


Ipse Dixit

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, And it's not sorcery, Family Issues, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Uther is a dick, Violence, it's mutant powers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-06 00:05:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14629854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: The Sentinel Program is a disaster in the making, and Uther Pendragon is its staunchest supporter. Arthur disagrees with Uther's bigoted politics, but what can he do when his father refuses to see reason?When Arthur is kidnapped and held for ransom, Merlin resolves to rescue his wayward employer. He only prays he's not too late.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Melody_Jade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melody_Jade/gifts).



> For the kind, clever, and endlessly patient Melody Jade: thank you for the incredible prompt, the ceaseless support, and for waiting while I let this fic run rampant. It's been an absolute DELIGHT writing for you, and I hope you enjoy.

"Arthur!" At the very first glimpse of his employer striding through the heavy door and into the wider waiting area, Merlin bolted upright from his uncomfortable chair.

The room was empty but for a handful of other Pendragon employees, and every eye turned on Merlin with pointed disapproval. Well, maybe not disapproval so much as surprise from most of them, followed by familiar exasperation from Arthur. A carefully measured neutral expression from Lancelot, who had been Arthur's bodyguard long enough to know just how little stock Merlin put in formality.

Arthur's arm was in a sling, but when he approached the cluster of waiting faces he gave a shrug of the other shoulder and said, "It's just a strain. The sling is mostly to remind me to leave it alone. I _did_ tell my father a hospital wasn't necessary."

Merlin bit his tongue to keep from firing back the sort of retort that could only get him in trouble. Arthur would almost certainly allow the impertinence—he'd long since stopped reminding Merlin that a personal assistant was supposed to show deference to his employer—but the fact of their audience made candor a bad idea. With the exception of Lancelot, every one of these people reported directly to Uther, and Uther Pendragon was the only person besides Arthur with the authority to sack Merlin.

From the raise of Arthur's eyebrow, he clearly knew _exactly_ how much effort Merlin was expending to keep quiet. He turned his back on Merlin a moment later, and when he spoke again it was to address the lingering cluster of Pendragon employees, most of them administrative, all of them unnecessary.

"You can all go home. You shouldn't be here in the first place, I'm sure you've got better things requiring your attention."

The next few minutes felt like an eon of slow, shuffling goodnights and farewells. Cordial, awkward, inefficient, as everyone left without bothering to acknowledge there'd been no point in them waiting around in the first place. Uther had access to the hospital staff both officially, as Arthur's father and main medical contact—and unofficially since he was _Uther Pendragon_ , and a whole lot of clout came with that kind of money and political power. He hardly needed an army of staff loitering in the waiting room to report back on his son's condition, though report back they all certainly would.

Merlin wondered, not for the first time, how Arthur managed to cope with the stifling overprotectiveness Uther demonstrated whenever he wasn't ignoring his son completely.

Finally the last of the bland and unhelpful admins disappeared down the hall, leaving Arthur standing between Merlin and Lancelot in the otherwise empty waiting room. Merlin didn't need to look at the clock on the wall to know what time it was. Between the light still cutting through the un-curtained windows, the rumble of his stomach, and the fact that he'd been checking the time compulsively the entire time he'd been waiting?

It was creeping toward seven. They'd been in this damn hospital for nearly three hours, most of that time completely unnecessary. Uther's doing, the paranoid bastard.

But then, at least there could be no doubt left that Arthur was _fine_.

Merlin had already been confident enough of that fact, even before they'd reached the hospital. All through the ambulance ride, Arthur's ranting about wastes of time gave little suggestion of fear—or even any real amount of pain—but there had still been an instant. Before. During the brief chaos, after Uther's speech had been interrupted by protesters and someone threw a punch. No telling in the aftermath whether the violence had started with the protestors or a member of Uther's security team, but it didn't matter.

When the riot had bled up onto the dais and Arthur was knocked off the edge—

Well. Merlin was accustomed to seeing Arthur in danger. He'd never met _anyone_ as capable of finding trouble as his employer. But that didn't mean he ever got used to the heart-jolting panic when it happened. Protectiveness, fear, urgency all wrapped up in the need to _keep Arthur safe_.

Lancelot hadn't been close enough to help, which left Merlin. To arrest Arthur's fall with a glance—keep him from being trampled beneath the stampede below—and pray no one noticed the nova-bright glint of orange in his eyes. A dangerous giveaway that he'd been contending with all his life.

It would've been the height of irony, for his secret to escape, protecting Arthur during Uther Pendragon's anti-mutant grandstanding.

Merlin had acted without hesitation. His reckless use of his own abilities had gone miraculously unnoticed, just like every time before. And now they were here, Arthur suffering no worse than a strained shoulder, and the relief flooding through Merlin left him lightheaded.

"You're really okay?" he asked, untroubled by the exasperated look Arthur gave him in answer.

" _Yes_ , Merlin. The shoulder should be fine in a few days. Have you really been out here worrying this entire time?"

"No," Merlin said. It didn't sound very convincing, even though it was mostly the truth.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're such a mother hen."

"And _you_ need to be more careful." Merlin ignored the amused glint of Lancelot watching them. "You could have died!" He could still taste the panic, the burst of denial as Arthur went over the edge. The distance was easily far enough it could have broken Arthur's neck if he'd landed at the wrong angle—if Merlin hadn't been there to soften the fall—and as for the trample of feet...

With nothing better to do for the past couple hours, Merlin had been following the news updates. There had been more than one serious injury amid the violent outbreak.

He could far too easily picture a different outcome. Arthur bloodied. Arthur's eyes closed and refusing to open. And the fearful flashes were enough to twist his heart up dreadfully, tighten his chest into knots of refusal. The feelings were pointless to linger on. Arthur was _fine_. And in an case, it wasn't Merlin's place to be so personally vested in his employer's wellbeing.

"Merlin." There was chiding in Arthur's tone, but something kinder in his eyes. "You're being ridiculous. Why don't you go home? It's late. Lancelot and I can return to my father's estate without you."

It was telling, in its own way, that Arthur never described the place as _home_. But as always, Merlin bit his tongue and made no comment.

Lancelot took a step nearer, putting himself properly into the conversation, and added, "There's a driver ready for us now, by the south entrance."

Arthur gave Lancelot an appreciative nod, then turned back to Merlin. "See? Everything is well under control. We'll drop you at your apartment on the way."

"No thanks," Merlin said. "It's only seven, and I'm not letting you out of my sight just yet."

Arthur considered him in silence for a moment before turning toward the hall, apparently conceding defeat.

"You know," Arthur said in a conversational tone, "you _could_ , just for a change, try actually doing what I tell you. That's what employees are supposed to do."

Lancelot, already fallen into step at Arthur's side, gave an audible snort of laughter and did not look at Merlin.

Merlin hesitated only a moment before joining them, keeping pace along the wide hallway. He didn't bother answering Arthur's admonishment. Instead he fished Arthur's phone from his own pocket—where it had been tucked since just before Arthur disappeared for his endless barrage of tests—and handed it into Arthur's unencumbered hand.

The screen was badly cracked, but the phone still worked, and Arthur swiped a thumb across the surface as he checked his messages.

"Morgana's been texting since we arrived," Merlin reported. "Though I'm sure she'll deny she was worried. And you've got an avalanche of messages from your father. I didn't send him any replies. Figured you'd rather deal with them yourself."

"Mmm," Arthur agreed, already distracted.

Merlin glanced past him, exchanged an eloquent look with Lancelot, and then turned his attention ahead. Silent now, as they continued along the hall.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

" _Now_ will you leave?" Arthur demanded once they returned to the Pendragon estate.

Merlin blinked, trying to decide just how insubordinate he could afford to be. Lancelot had bid them both goodnight before they even reached the lift that would carry them from the massive garage to the main foyer above. Which meant it was only the two of them—Merlin and Arthur—standing side-by-side as the lift carried them upward with a steady whir.

Some faint veneer of deference was called for, at a minimum. Merlin could tell with just a quick glance that Arthur's temper was piqued from the day's events.

"Don't you want me to look over the—"

" _No_ , Merlin," Arthur interrupted far too quickly. "My schedule can wait. The contract review can wait. The department presentation notes can wait. There is _nothing_ so pressing we cannot postpone it until tomorrow."

Merlin bit his tongue and forced himself quiet. Arthur was _right_ , of course. As often as Merlin did work late—and much as Arthur seemed to take his presence for granted—it was never frivolous overtime. Arthur never kept him to unreasonable hours if the work would keep, and tonight especially it made no sense for Merlin to stay. Between Uther's PR nightmare and Arthur's trip to the hospital, no one would begrudge a day or two of delay in anything that might be pushed back.

Which meant he had no valid excuse to remain. He certainly couldn't admit to Arthur that his desire to stay close was entirely selfish—an irrational fear—a need to reassure himself that his employer truly was not hurt. His heart might demand it, but his mind could not rationalize it in any way that would win this argument.

The lift pinged as it came to a stop, doors sliding open with familiar but infuriating slowness. Merlin waited, following a step behind as Arthur exited first. He fell in once more at Arthur's side, their shoes clicking loudly on marble-tiled floor.

The main foyer was every bit as pretentious as the rest of Uther's estate. Intricate patterns twined along the floor, broken now and then by skinny pillars sculpted into elaborate shapes. No fewer than three staircases circled the vast space, including the one that rose from the very center of the oblong room. Dark stone everywhere, clean and shining and careless in its show of wealth. Even the arched ceiling above was wrought with unnecessary intricacy, sculpted arches and detailed murals lit by discreetly positioned light.

It was a staggeringly beautiful space. There were days Merlin hated it.

"I could still stay," he pressed, pushing his luck. "You might need me for something."

Arthur rolled his eyes and answered, " _Go home_ , Merlin. I hardly need an escort to a meeting with my father. I very much doubt we will be discussing anything as relevant as business."

"But—"

Arthur silenced him with a finger pointed straight at Merlin's face. "I mean it. Go home. I'll see you in the morning and _not before_." Then, apparently unconcerned with Merlin's actual agreement, Arthur turned on his heel and began ascending the massive central staircase.

Merlin watched him go. He kept perfectly motionless despite the buzz of frustration beneath his skin. He remained at the base of the stairs even as Arthur reached the second floor landing high above.

Arthur did not turn around, and Merlin remained silent even as his maddening employer disappeared down the centermost hallway.

Only once he was certain Arthur would not hear him did Merlin mount the stairs himself.

He knew the location of Uther's office just as surely as he knew every other corner and crevice of this ridiculous mansion. And he was almost entirely certain, if Uther had demanded his son attend him tonight, the meeting would take place in Uther's stately and heartless office rather than any of the more personal living areas of the estate.

Uther Pendragon was not a man inclined toward sentiment. For all his overbearing paternal concern, Merlin could not picture him unbending enough to address his son under less professional circumstances. It would take a dire situation indeed to tip Uther's hand and make him show some scrap of genuine affection, even more to imagine that affection untainted by rage or stern control.

It was a wonder, really, that Arthur Pendragon had learned to emote at all.

Merlin reached the closed door behind which stood Uther's office. He didn't need to see the space to conjure a clear image in his mind. Windows spanned one entire wall, tall and pristine and spaced close together. The desk itself would be bare at this hour—not even a computer on it—work cleared away for the evening and leaving a daunting empty space.

Despite the heavy door, Merlin didn't need to make any particular effort to hear the conversation already unfolding on the other side. Both Pendragon men were boldly spoken as a rule, and they clearly were not trying to keep their voices down. What was the point, after all, here in their home where only the most trusted employees could reach them?

Fortunate for Merlin, nosy as he was, but especially now. He would have found a way to listen in regardless, but he greatly appreciated that the task was a straightforward one.

"—doesn't matter, now that you are _safe_ ," Uther's voice carried unaccustomed warmth, the vestiges of anger and fear. "We'll have to guard ourselves more closely. Things are certain to grow worse before they improve."

"You still intend to go forward with this? After today's protest?"

"Of course the program will move forward." Despite the power in his voice, Uther sounded more exasperated than angry, at least for the moment. Merlin rarely had reason to speak to the elder Pendragon directly, but he was familiar with the uncanny velocity of the man's temper.

"But Father, shouldn't you reconsider—"

"There is _nothing_ to reconsider," Uther interrupted with stern displeasure, though still no outright anger. "The Sentinel Program is _necessary_. It's the only way to protect society from this growing menace. Today's riot only proves my point."

Merlin flinched at the reminder: in all his worry over Arthur, he'd managed to tuck away and not think about the subject of the interrupted speech. Uther's Sentinel Program was the stuff of nightmares—a murmuring that had spread behind closed doors for the past several months. Merlin was good at closed doors. He had gleaned bits and pieces, but his access was limited. Arthur was no politician, and had nothing to do with the program beyond his inescapable connection to Uther Pendragon. He simply was not close enough for Merlin to garner more information.

But today's spectacle had set all mystery aside. A public unveiling of Uther's ridiculous witch hunt, all the more terrifying for the fact that he'd somehow managed to secure both funding and research, despite the fact that his ruthless vision had not yet passed into law.

The Sentinel Program was ready. It was _immanent_. It was terrifying in its scope. And even now, in a quieter calm, Merlin's mind shied away from it. If Uther succeeded at enacting the necessary laws to authorize this use of mechanized force—and Merlin could not fathom he would fail—then no mutant in the world would be safe.

Behind the door, the voices still argued. Merlin wasn't sure how much he'd missed, as his mind returned abruptly to the present just in time to hear measured, deliberate caution in Arthur's voice.

"They're just _people_ , Father."

"They are _dangerous_ ," Uther thundered in answer, and here at last was the anger Merlin had expected. He could picture _this_ clearly too. Arthur's guarded expression, his straight posture, his rigid shoulders. Squaring off against Uther like a stone wall before a raging tempest.

"These laws... This Sentinel Program... They're too much. They're _Draconian_. They might instill order, but at what cost?"

"Whatever the cost, it is _necessary_ ," Uther said coldly. "And until those who don't understand can be brought to heel, we must be more vigilant than ever."

"Father—"

"You are too soft, Arthur," Uther interrupted in a more measured tone. "You're excellent at business, but you have no head for politics. For _history_. You fail to see the bigger picture."

"I see perfectly clearly," Arthur retorted sullenly, in a tone that—even without Merlin's long years at his side—would make it clear he was all too accustomed to losing fights with his father.

No, Merlin amended silently. Not _losing_ fights. Arthur spoke sense, more often than not. From any external measure, he should have regularly walked away victorious from these verbal altercations. But the most reasoned arguments shattered themselves against the shield of Uther's close-minded stubbornness. Even Arthur could not hope to get through.

The fact that he continually tried anyway was one of the many reasons Merlin was desperate to remain as close to Arthur as possible.

Merlin had lost the thread again, had missed more of the argument unfolding behind the heavy office door.

"Perhaps you should have a second bodyguard for the time being." Uther had apparently moved on from his anger. He sounded solicitous now. Not apologetic—Uther Pendragon did not give apologies—but calm once more.

"No," Arthur answered, in the unyielding voice he had learned from his father.

"It would be prudent."

"It would be pointless. Lancelot is perfectly competent. You're not saddling me with _more_ protection. I already have one bodyguard _and_ the world's most overprotective assistant."

Merlin barely contained a wry snort at that. If Arthur knew just how often Merlin saved him from injury, he wouldn't throw those judgments around so casually.

"If Lancelot were competent, you would not have been hurt today," Uther said.

"For the last time, I'm _fine_. I only need to wear the sling for a few days. And it's not Lancelot's fault I _fell_."

"It could have been much worse."

"But it wasn't. And we are not discussing this again. Goodnight, Father."

Merlin had just enough time to retreat, darting to the side and partway down the hall before the door swung inward. He made no real effort to get away, even as he removed himself far enough he couldn't be seen from inside the office. If past experience held true, Uther would not follow his son's stormy exit. It would be only Arthur to see him, and Arthur had yet to reprimand him for eavesdropping.

It was a sign of just how exhausted Arthur was that he didn't spot Merlin until he'd already taken two steps toward him. The door, heavy as it was, swung shut with a dull thud. Leaving the two of them alone in the otherwise empty hallway, staring at each other in a silence full of meaning.

There was no hint of surprise on Arthur's infuriatingly handsome face, even as he came to an abrupt halt.

Merlin met Arthur's stare, trying not to look _too_ defiant. He probably failed, but Arthur only rolled his eyes and started walking again. Past Merlin and along the hall, making no protest as Merlin fell into step beside him.

Only after they had rounded a corner into a different wing of the mansion did Arthur mutter, "I told you to go home."

"I didn't listen."

"Clearly." Despite the flicker of exasperation, Arthur gave no sign of resenting Merlin's presence. Several footsteps farther along he said in a tired voice, "I need a fucking drink."

"Do you want company?"

Arthur held silent for a long time—long enough that Merlin glanced over at him and wasn't entirely sure what to make of the expression he found on Arthur's face. Normally open and expressive, Arthur wore a tight mask of blankness over whatever he was feeling in that moment. It gave Merlin pause, made him wonder if he had overstepped. He was constantly overstepping the boundaries of decorum, of course, but normally Arthur didn't mind.

"Company would be... nice." 

Merlin breathed a silent sigh of relief at the words, and at the way Arthur's posture loosened, the line of his shoulders visibly easing. Nothing wrong after all. Not if Arthur was permitting him to stay. Whatever was bothering him, he clearly didn't intend to share, but he wouldn't invite companionship if he were angry _at Merlin_.

It was probably tempting fate, but after only a moment Merlin heard himself say, "Maybe you _should_ have a second bodyguard."

Arthur stopped walking so suddenly that for a moment Merlin was certain he'd fucked up. There was silence, ringing and taut and endless. An absolute eternity stretching forward by the second.

Then Arthur laughed. Just as abruptly as he had stopped walking, he erupted in sharp, shaking laughter so hard he had to wrap his unhindered arm around his stomach. It was... Almost terrifying to behold. Helpless and strange and like nothing Merlin had ever seen. Merlin was torn between the desire to move closer—Arthur looked like he might well fall over—or to keep a safe distance from this unfamiliar outburst.

The indecision kept him rooted exactly where he was, staring in disbelief, uncertain what to do.

By the time it ended, Arthur was bent nearly double, hand braced on his knee, face red with exertion.

"Are... you all right?" Merlin asked.

Arthur straightened, eyes still closed as he drew a deep and steadying breath. "Of course I'm all right." A moment later he blinked at Merlin. There was a twitch of amusement at the corner of Arthur's mouth, despite the single eyebrow arching high on his forehead.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Merlin asked cautiously.

"Because in all your years working for me, you have _never once_ agreed with my father."

Merlin bit his tongue and didn't bother pointing out that Uther was almost always _wrong_. That of course Merlin never agreed with him, when as far as he could tell the founder of the Pendragon fortune was a man motivated solely by spite, selfishness and increasingly frequent sparks of irrational hatred.

But when it came to his son's safety, the man occasionally exhibited a shard of good sense.

"Come on," Arthur admonished, as though Merlin had been the one to arrest their pace. When he began walking again, more quickly this time, Merlin hurried to keep up.

Arthur's rooms were an enormous distance from Uther's office—quite possibly by design—but the distance passed quickly. The labyrinth of nearly identical hallways didn't confuse Merlin any longer. He'd spent too many years in Arthur's employ, and he'd learned his way around. It was certainly easier to be an unrepentant snoop when one knew the quickest escape routes.

When they reached the right door, Merlin followed Arthur across the threshold, out of the hall and into the sprawling room. Closed doors led deeper into Arthur's apartments, but the spacious main salon was inviting. Part lounge, part dining room, part kitchen. It had an eclectic feel, a space designed for comfort and solitude and respite—necessary for a man who carried so much weight on his shoulders—and Merlin had always loved it.

He startled as the door closed behind him now, noticing belatedly that there was already someone here.

"Morgana," Arthur said in a tone of exhausted affection. "You promised to stop breaking into my room."

"It's not breaking in if you don't lock your door." She set aside the amber drink in her hand—glass almost entirely full—and rose from the couch with an audible creak of leather. She stood for a moment in silence, staring at Arthur with solemnity only a furious sibling could muster.

She didn't acknowledge Merlin, but it obviously wasn't intended as a slight. Merlin waited the staring contest out with his usual patience.

Eventually Morgana breathed an exaggerated sigh and raised her arms. "For god's sake, come here." As soon as Arthur was in range, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a crushing hug.

"Ow," Arthur said, but made no effort to extricate himself.

"You scared the hell out of me," Morgana muttered when she withdrew, smacking him lightly in the back of the head. "Getting yourself taken away in an ambulance and then not answering your texts for _how many_ hours?"

"Merlin had my mobile!" Arthur protested.

" _Merlin_ is the only reason I knew you weren't dead," Morgana countered dryly. She turned from Arthur then, offering Merlin a warm smile and speaking in a kinder voice, "Would you like a drink? Arthur's liquor cabinet is passable."

Without even glancing at Arthur, Merlin smiled in return. "That would be lovely, thank you."

Morgana's smile widened briefly and she darted across the room. Merlin's attention shifted almost immediately back to Arthur, who was scowling pointedly at him. The look didn't particularly trouble Merlin. This was not the expression Arthur wore when he was truly angry.

"Must you encourage her?" Arthur asked in a soft, exasperated voice.

Merlin grinned shamelessly. "She's _your_ sister." Half-sister, really. But then, the distinction didn't matter. The two were alike in so many ways, it was no wonder they butted heads constantly. 

Arthur scoffed and turned to follow Morgana. "If you're going to raid my good liquor, you may as well pour me a glass too."

"Get your own drink," Morgana retorted brightly.

Merlin watched them both. He bit his lower lip in an attempt to contain his amusement, hanging back a ways, reluctant to interrupt. He was content, for the moment, to remain quiet on the periphery. To simply exist, and know that Arthur was safe.


	2. Chapter 2

A week passed with the same busy, distracted speed as always.

No surprise that Arthur refused to let a minor injury impact his schedule. It was a scramble to recover lost ground and fall immediately back into the rhythms of running a major corporation. Arthur never protested the weight of responsibility, but Merlin—as always—had a front row view of how exhausting the effort truly was.

He couldn't tell Arthur what to do, of course. No one—not even Uther Pendragon himself—could order Arthur to slow down and take it easy. They could try, certainly; but Arthur wouldn't listen. And between his unrelenting stubbornness and the practical fact that the Pendragon business holdings would not run themselves, Arthur would continue exactly as he was.

That was fine. Merlin could work with stubborn. His own job was to keep Arthur's day running smoothly, and after five years he was damn good at it. He could make sure Arthur ate regular meals. Could discreetly clear a block of calendar if he was subtle about it, and provide the excuse for a nap if Arthur had failed to sleep the night before. He could arrive with coffee when he turned up at the Pendragon estate for his employer's wakeup call.

Arthur Pendragon had—as far as Merlin knew—never successfully woken to an alarm clock in his life. He required a pushier approach, and there were not many brave enough to risk his wrath by attempting it.

Even Merlin wasn't foolish enough to attempt it quite this early. Especially on a Monday morning, arriving well before sunrise. Five a.m. was extreme even for Merlin; if he poked his head through Arthur's bedroom door _now_ , he was liable to get a pillow thrown at his head. And that was the best-case scenario. Who knew what else Arthur might find in reach to throw at him.

Merlin would wait another half hour at least. Maybe a little longer. Arthur would still gripe and moan and refuse to get out of bed, but at least there would be a minimum of projectiles.

Fortunately, Merlin knew his way around the Pendragon mansion. He knew plenty of places he could kill a little time without being in anyone's way—not that the estate was a particularly lively place at five in the morning—and he detoured toward one of them now. A small kitchen on the second floor, in the same wing as Arthur's rooms.

It was also as far as possible from Uther's terrain.

Even more important was the fact that this kitchen had a coffee-maker and a ridiculous supply of breakfast cereals. The breakfast cereal was for him—he hadn't eaten yet today—but the coffee would be vital if he wanted to wake Arthur anything like peaceably.

Merlin didn't bother looking where he was going. There would be no one to run into at this hour, so there was no reason _not_ to get some work done while he walked. He knew the way; he could get where he was going while pulling up Arthur's schedule on the tablet in his hands. There was always prep work to do, arrangements to finalize, meetings to double check. The earlier Merlin began, the smoother the day would go.

Engrossed as he was, Merlin was already across the threshold and into the kitchenette before he realized the room wasn't empty. He stopped in front of the table and raised his eyes from his tablet screen, taking in the unexpected sight.

Morgana sat at one end of the table, slumped forward. Asleep with her head pillowed on one arm.

There were textbooks open, notes spread out in front of her, paper crinkled beneath her elbows. An uncapped highlighter had rolled away from her hand, and the notebook beside her was nearly black with ink. An empty coffee mug sat within easy reach, though obviously the caffeine hadn't been enough to keep Morgana upright.

Merlin didn't wake her. An all-nighter meant she must have a test looming, or perhaps a deadline on a major writing assignment. He'd make sure to give her a nudge before leaving to wake Arthur, but surely a little extra sleep would do her good.

Merlin moved quietly now that he knew he wasn't alone. He stepped to the counter where the coffee machine stood beside the sink, setting his iPad down just far enough away to avoid getting it wet. Quick enough work, rinsing out the empty pot, tossing the old grounds, filling a new filter to set a fresh pot brewing. Simple. He would offer Morgana a cup when he woke her. It was only polite.

At first, when Morgana shifted and breathed a low unhappy sound, Merlin assumed she was rousing. He would be unhappy too, in her position, waking up with a homework hangover and a nasty crick in the neck. The coffee wasn't ready yet; there hadn't accumulated more than half a mug's worth in the pot.

But when he turned to face the table, he found Morgana soundly unconscious in exactly the same position as before. She hadn't moved really, but there was a disquiet now that hadn't been there before. Her brow had furrowed into a deep line, and her eyes were restless beneath her eyelids, moving with the kind of darting speed that spoke of vivid dreams.

Not just dreams, Merlin realized. Nightmares, confirmed by the gasping whimper she breathed in the very next moment.

"Morgana." Merlin eased toward her, gambling that a startled wakeup would be more pleasant than whatever she was seeing.

But she didn't wake, so Merlin took another step forward. He hesitated only a moment before setting a hand on her shoulder.

" _Morgana_ ," he said more emphatically, giving her shoulder a firm shake.

Morgana flinched in her sleep, breathed a choked sound, but her eyes still did not open. A tight edge of fear clawed at Merlin's insides; something was wrong. This wasn't normal, no matter how exhausted she might be. If he couldn't wake her he would need to find help, possibly call a doctor—

Before he could settle on a plan, or even try again with a harder shake, a staticky crackling noise intruded on his senses and the light fixture in the ceiling dimmed alarmingly. Merlin let go of Morgana's shoulder and straightened, turning in confusion as the light flickered. There was a scent almost like burning in the air, metallic and acrid, and when he glanced behind him he saw why.

Every appliance on the counter was sparking in perfect rhythm with the pulsing and fading light. Coffee maker, toaster oven, microwave—even the excessively elaborate control panel on the side of the refrigerator.

"Morgana?" Merlin breathed, reaching blindly behind him and getting a hand on her arm, jostling her more urgently as he realized there was only one explanation for this. "If you're doing this you need to stop."

No surprise the words didn't get through. No surprise she slept on. He couldn't guess what she was seeing—nightmare or premonition—but it hardly mattered. The result was the same: not good.

This was exceptionally _not good_.

Despite every instinct telling him not to turn his back on the sparking appliances, Merlin gave Morgana his full attention—

Just in time to see her sit suddenly, fearfully upright. Her eyes glowed bright when they opened, and for an instant Merlin thought it was some sign of whatever the hell this strange ability was. Another heartbeat and he realized this was a much more tangible glint: a reflection of firelight, as the sparking appliances erupted in tall plumes of open flame.

"Morgana, can you hear me?" Merlin grasped her tightly by both shoulders now, turning her to face him directly but resisting the urge to _shake_. Morgana's eyes were slow to track now that they were open, her gaze startled and confused, but she found him. Blinked a strange, slow blink as she took him in.

"Merlin?" Her expression cleared some, and she glanced past him, taking in the eerie jets of flame. She jerked backward, out of her chair, and stood clumsily. "Merlin, what the hell is—"

"You need to calm down." Merlin forced his voice steady. He could tell from the cloudy confusion on her face that Morgana didn't realize what was causing the chaos around them. 

Merlin knew that feeling—he knew intimately the startled disbelief—the disjointed sensation of new abilities coming to life. But if Morgana didn't ease back somehow, they were going to have an even larger problem.

Morgana stared at him like he'd grown a second head, and after a moment she echoed, " _Calm down_? Why are you telling me to—"

She went silent suddenly, sharply. Stood rigidly still as her gaze turned distant.

" _I'm_ doing this," she realized, speaking the revelation aloud. Then, in a smaller voice, she asked, "How do I stop?"

There was smoke now. The jets of flame had begun to branch, igniting nearby curtains, window sills, cupboards.

"I don't know." Merlin hated his own helplessness. Smoke detectors kicked on, ear-piercing and painful. An instant later the sprinkler system activated overhead, dowsing the flames and soaking the kitchen in seconds.

"Oh god." Morgana snapped out of her wide-eyed stupor and scrambled for her schoolwork. It was too late. Her papers were saturated, her books ruined, everything falling apart beneath the onslaught of water.

Before Merlin could urge her to abandon her books and retreat, a new burst of activity erupted around them. Commotion, noise, an absolute stampede of _people_ , as security and household staff thundered into the tiny kitchen and dragged both Merlin and Morgana away. Sprinklers were in the hall too, even though the fires in the little kitchen had already gone out. Water streamed down Merlin's face, into his ears, along his jaw.

Beside him, Morgana looked completely bedraggled.

And utterly terrified.

Merlin didn't blame her. The physical danger had passed, but even he was still all jangled nerves and adrenaline. He could imagine well enough what she must feel, caught up in the same havoc but knowing she herself had been the cause.

He wondered if she'd known before. A mutant living under Uther Pendragon's roof... His own daughter... _Merlin_ certainly recognized the discomfort of occupying this space while keeping such a secret.

But her surprise and confusion had seemed sincere. Impossible to imagine she could've been familiar with her own mutant abilities when she'd looked so utterly, helplessly shocked.

Someone was talking to them, Merlin realized belatedly. A familiar woman, a member of Uther's staff. She was standing at close range, speaking loudly to be heard over the din.

"—fire department, any moment. Are you both okay? What happened?"

Morgana looked millimeters from panic. Merlin didn't blame her; there was no reasonable explanation for what had just happened.

But then, no one had ever accused _Merlin_ of being excessively reasonable. He gave Morgana a quick glance that he hoped was reassuring, then locked his full attention on their worried audience. "It must have been faulty wiring. A short circuit or something? I've never seen anything like it, but it was all the appliances malfunctioning at once. Might've been fine if the sparks hadn't caught the curtains, but..."

He shrugged as though to emphasize his own cluelessness, offering up a sheepish smile. He did his best to convey without words that the strangeness was no big deal. A freak accident yes, but look, everything was fine. Safe. No one had been hurt and surely these things just happened sometimes.

"I mean," he continued lightly, "it's either the wiring or I am _irredeemably awful_ at making coffee."

It wasn't until almost an hour later, after the fire department had been and gone—after the sprinklers were finally turned off and the crowd of people dispersed—that Merlin found himself alone with Morgana.

The tiny kitchen was a tragic sight to behold. Sodden and scorched by turns, with the wet pulp of Morgana's homework still spread across the table. There was no light except the bright glint of sunrise outside—the light fixture in the ceiling had shattered—but the sunlight was plenty to see by.

Merlin stared at the ruined room. He crossed to the counter to find his iPad unsalvageable. From the state of it, he could tell it'd been among the appliances to ignite in impossible pillars of fire.

It was cool to the touch now, and he tucked it beneath his arm. They weren't supposed to move anything—there would be an official inspection before cleanup was allowed—but Merlin refused to leave behind the one piece of evidence that contradicted his story about how the fire had started.

When he turned around, he found Morgana standing with her arms crossed, her wet hair tucked back from her face. She was watching him with a strange glint in her eyes.

"Why did you lie to them?" she asked softly. "Why did you protect me?"

Merlin felt a fleeting urge to tell her the complete truth, but thought better of it. He trusted Morgana, but there was too much danger in being known for what they were. Especially here. Especially when Merlin himself had no familial connection to protect him from Uther's wrath.

So he gave a one-shouldered shrug, and a lopsided smile, and answered, "Because it was the right thing to do."

Morgana's mouth thinned, but a grudging smile tugged at one corner. A lighter expression followed a heartbeat later when she said, "Thank you."

"If it's... not unforgivably nosy…" Merlin stepped closer so that he could drop his voice, all too aware of the open door to the hall. "Did you know?"

She regarded him with an appraising eye, cautious even now. Obviously considering her answer with great care before deciding on honesty. "I was beginning to know. I've noticed things. Things like this, but never... It's never been so _big_ before."

"Is it always fire?" Merlin pressed. "Electricity?"

Another considering pause before Morgana answered, "Electricity. I think the fire was collateral damage. Though... God, who knows?"

Merlin didn't press. It took _time_ for a mutant to learn the contours of their own abilities. And a talent like this... It wasn't as though Morgana was surrounded by safe and secret opportunities to explore and practice.

He fell silent now, for fear of saying too much. He wanted to offer reassurances, wanted to tell her it would be okay. But why should she believe him? It wasn't as though he could point out he'd been here himself, that he had survived and she would too.

But his silence was conspicuous in the ruined kitchen, and Merlin searched his mind for something else to say.

"My god, I thought Caroline _must_ be exaggerating," Arthur's voice cut into the silence, and both Morgana and Merlin startled toward the open doorway.

Arthur stood in the frame, gawping over the threshold in open awe. It was obvious from the look on his face that he hadn't overheard their low-voiced conversation, even as he stared across the contained devastation.

"Arthur!" Merlin recovered himself first. "I'm sorry to report I'll need a new iPad. The water damaged mine irreparably."

"Fine." Arthur stepped into the kitchenette, staring upward to take in the scattered scorch marks all over the ceiling. "My _god_ what a mess. Are you both all right?" He had moved closer and dropped his gaze to take them in, eyes narrowing in disapproval at the state of them. "You look half drowned."

Morgana laughed—a bright, disbelieving sound—and stepped forward to press a fond kiss to Arthur's cheek. She was smiling when she retreated. "I'm going. I need a shower and then I suppose I'd better start asking my professors for extensions."

Quick as that she was gone, leaving Merlin and Arthur alone in the sun-filled little room. Arthur's eyes held him intently for several seconds, fierce but also strangely unreadable. Taking Merlin in with the kind of scrutiny he usually reserved for intense business negotiations.

"I'm fine," Merlin said, just in case it was worry putting that furrow at the center of Arthur's brow.

A heartbeat more, and then Arthur visibly shook himself. Quirked one eyebrow and straightened his shoulders. "Of course you're fine. You are also _late_. Come on. You can use my shower, and then we'll see about obtaining you a clean suit."

Merlin followed into the hall, ducking to hide his smile as Arthur brusquely led the way.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

Merlin tried to keep his peace about the Sentinel Program.

He honestly, genuinely tried, even as the strange morning crept forward into the normal realms of business meetings and board members and Arthur Pendragon's insurmountable to-do list. Arthur was in an unpleasant mood, snippy and riled, even shorter with Merlin than usual. Surely an ideological discussion would go to waste under the circumstances.

But it gnawed at Merlin all day, this itch beneath his skin. It burned at him with the knowledge there was nothing he could do, but _so much_ he should say.

He lasted until the end of the day. Seven-thirty. Early enough that Arthur had not even begun to make noise about leaving the office. Late enough that the rest of the building's employees were long gone. Even Lancelot had disappeared, though only as far as the employee break room down the hall. He would resurface when Arthur was ready to call it a night.

From the tired glint in Arthur's eyes, Merlin had a premonition he was about to be sent home.

He _should_ go home. It was Friday night, long past the closing of regular business hours, and he'd had a long day. Even after putting on dry clothes, Merlin hadn't managed to regain his equilibrium. Maybe thanks to the surreal experience of using Arthur's incomprehensibly spacious shower, maybe because he'd never quite managed to set aside the adrenaline kick from starting his day surrounded by electrical fires.

But Merlin knew—he _knew_ —Arthur would stay even later into the night. Always the stubborn over-achiever. Always that sense of having something to prove.

Merlin didn't know how to convince Arthur he was fighting the wrong battles, and he sure as hell shouldn't try _now_.

But then, self-restraint had never been Merlin's most powerful talent. It had never been _any_ sort of talent, really. Why should he begin cultivating it now?

Arthur's office was the largest in the building. Its high ceiling and massive windows made for an impressive effect, a perfect complement to the sturdy mahogany desk that dominated the space. The chair behind the desk was just as impressive—overkill as far as Merlin was concerned—but at least it was comfy as hell. Merlin knew because sometimes he sat in it when Arthur wasn't around; there were perks to this particular job.

Arthur sat tiredly in that chair, posture slouching now that there was only Merlin to witness. There was a tightness around his eyes that made Merlin wonder if his shoulder was bothering him even though the sling was gone.

He didn't offer to find the last of Arthur's pain medication. The only reason there were any doses left was Arthur's stubborn habit of refusing them in the first place.

"For god's sake, Merlin. Whatever's been gnawing at you all day, just _say it_. And stop staring at me. I'm not the one who nearly died in a fire this morning."

"I did _not_ almost die."

"Don't argue with me. And if you're not going home, then sit down. You're making me nervous."

Merlin snorted, but resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The sound alone was enough to draw Arthur's focus from his work and earn Merlin an unimpressed glower. Stormy eyes and a pursed mouth conveyed wry displeasure. For a moment it was a staring contest without purpose. Merlin held that disapproving gaze steadily, just to prove he could.

They were both too stubborn to truly back down, so Merlin at last broke the stalemate. He moved—forward—rounding the enormous desk. Bypassing the guest chair and instead making his way to Arthur's side. He leaned on the edge of the desk nearly close enough to touch and looked down into his Arthur's expressive face.

The main expression Arthur wore at the moment was exasperation. Another moment and he capped his pen with an exaggerated sigh, setting it aside as he slumped back in his chair and met Merlin's determined stare.

" _What_?" Arthur somehow packed an entire world of impatience into that single syllable.

"Why don't you challenge your father's policies publicly?"

Arthur blinked at him as though waiting for Merlin to finish making his point. 

When Merlin only stared down at him, Arthur narrowed his eyes and asked, "Challenge him about what, precisely?"

It was a valid question. There were any number of things Arthur Pendragon disagreed with his father about. Plenty of topics on which they repeatedly butted heads. It had been a week since Uther's disastrous public unveiling of his plans for the Sentinel Program, and Arthur didn't know the true cause of the morning's fiery disaster. Why should he be able to predict the course of Merlin's thoughts _now_?

"You think he's wrong about mutants." Merlin paused and shook his head sharply. "No, sorry, let me say that again. You _know_ he's wrong about mutants. You know this Sentinel Program is taking things too far. I've heard you argue with him in private. But you've never publicly challenged him."

Arthur wasn't a politician, true. He was a businessman, only recently finished with school. Taking on an endless stream of responsibilities while Uther focused all his time and energy on a career as a lawmaker.

But Arthur was still a public figure. He had clout. People _liked him_ —not that Merlin would ever admit as much directly to his face—and his voice could have been a powerful one in the arena of public discussion.

Except instead of comprehension, Arthur was staring as though Merlin had completely lost him.

"Merlin," Arthur said at last, sounding strained. "How long have you worked for me?"

"Five years." Hard to imagine it'd been so long, but he knew the number was right. He'd started when Arthur was still studying for that fancy business degree. It was a difficult task apparently, finding a balance between education and the increasingly heavy responsibilities Uther had already begun heaping on his son's shoulders. In fact, it'd been Uther who first hired Merlin.

Merlin never took personally the fact that Arthur hadn't wanted an assistant. They'd found their footing eventually.

Five years on, and Merlin could no longer imagine his life anywhere else.

"Five years," Arthur echoed with the thin illusion of patience. "And in all that time, have you ever seen _anyone_ succeed at publicly taking the piss out of my father?"

"No, but—"

"There's no point." The habitual crease at the center of Arthur's brow deepened, and his voice rose—not into a shout, but loud enough to convey his agitation. "Especially not now, when he still retains enough control of his company to remove me. If I argue with him publicly, he will quite literally disown me. And then I'll have no bargaining power at all."

"You don't have any bargaining power _now_ ," Merlin argued, careful not to raise his own voice. It wouldn't do to match Arthur's aggravated tone—it would only lead them to shouting at each other—and once they devolved to shouting, the actual point would never get through.

Merlin knew he was lucky. No one else besides Uther—and perhaps Morgana—could get away with speaking to Arthur Pendragon this way. It veered dangerously close to scolding. But Merlin couldn't help it when he knew he was _right_.

"You're being insubordinate again," Arthur muttered grimly. There was no threat in the observation; if he were going to fire Merlin for insubordination, he'd have done it years ago.

"I'm sorry." Merlin was a terrible liar, so the apology didn't sound at all convincing. "But every day you keep quiet is a day he moves his plan a little further forward."

Arthur fell silent then. Suddenly, utterly, uncharacteristically silent.

Merlin held his breath.

Nearly a full minute passed before Arthur said in a strained voice, "You're wrong to put so much faith in me. Even if I _did_ stand against him publicly, it wouldn't accomplish anything."

"Arthur." Merlin spoke low and gentle now, treading with belated caution. For a single moment he was tempted to tell Arthur the truth about himself. To admit his own secrets, to confess what he could do. But he held his tongue and the urge passed.

The truth, once out, was not something he could take back.

He had Arthur's attention at least. Fierce and a little bit terrifying. Merlin swallowed past the tightness in his throat and forced himself to continue.

"I'm not trying to tell you what's right or wrong. I'm not telling you how to fight your battles. But even I can see that letting Uther have his way unchallenged is killing you. You have to do _something_."

"Maybe I _am_ doing something," Arthur snapped, then closed his mouth so fast his teeth clicked. His eyes widened, just enough to prove that—whatever the retort had meant—he hadn't intended to say it.

Before Merlin could answer, Arthur stood, rising so fast the chair rolled back a foot. Three steps put deliberate distance between them, as Arthur turned to glower out the massive window.

Merlin doubted he was even seeing the view.

He took a cautious step toward Arthur, setting a hand on the empty chair that now stood between them.

"Arthur, what—"

"Never mind." Arthur's words came clipped. Measured. Harsh. "Forget I said anything."

" _Arthur_ ," Merlin repeated, more pleading this time. He dropped his hand and stepped around the chair. Past it. Planted himself firmly at Arthur's side.

"It was nothing, Merlin. It's been a long, bizarre day. Just leave it."

"But—"

" _Enough_ ," Arthur snarled—far more forcefully than the situation warranted—and turned to lock Merlin with a piercing glare.

The glare did not last. With Arthur facing him directly, it became impossible to ignore just how close they were standing. Too close. So close Arthur's breath ghosted along Merlin's skin and ruffled his hair.

With every second that neither of them retreated, the strangeness of the moment increased. Merlin wondered, irrationally, if Arthur would kiss him. If Arthur _wanted_ to kiss him.

A ridiculous thing to imagine, no matter how badly Merlin might wish the answer were yes.

Standing so close, _he_ wanted to kiss _Arthur_. The desire was as overwhelming as it was foolish, and Merlin barely held his ground. He held still by the barest shard of self-restraint. He could no more reveal this than his other, more dangerous secret. He couldn't take the chance that Arthur might send him away.

Another moment, and finally Arthur turned aside. Smooth and calm as though he hadn't even noticed the off-balance eternity stretching between them.

"Go home, Merlin." Arthur sounded completely calm, ho hint of his previous agitation. "There will be plenty of work waiting for us in the morning."

Merlin had no rational reason to argue or stay.

"Good night, then," he said grudgingly, and left without another word.


	3. Chapter 3

For days on end Merlin had been spinning his wheels, failing to think of any way to stop or slow the inevitable. He was only one man, and not a powerful one—not in any of the ways that mattered here. He had no authority, no influence, no standing.

The Sentinel Program was progressing, and it burned at him that there seemed nothing at all he could do to interfere.

Arthur had staunchly refused to support his father's campaign efforts. He'd given no public backing to the disastrous new program. But every time Merlin so much as hinted that a little strategic rebellion might be well placed, Arthur shut down on him and changed the subject.

Every fiber of Merlin's being said this helplessness was _wrong_. Damn it, there _should_ be something he could do. He spent his every waking moment at the heart of the Pendragon world. Day in, day out, he was there. He'd heard both Arthur and Morgana argue with their father about mutant rights, more times than he could count.

After that morning in the kitchen, Morgana had started keeping such thoughts to herself. Merlin tried not to hold it against her; he couldn't blame her for being terrified.

But short of murdering Uther in his sleep—something Merlin couldn't bring himself to consider even idly—he saw no way to use his position to any kind of advantage.

Maybe it was this persistent distraction that lowered his guard on the worst possible day.

Protective as Merlin was— _vigilant_ as he was—threats didn't normally get anywhere near Arthur. Even Lancelot, perhaps the best equipped to see things he shouldn't, had no idea how often Merlin stepped in to protect their employer before anyone noticed a hint of danger. It was not often a threat snuck through the cracks. The few times it had happened, Lancelot was there to protect his charge and earn his keep.

This time was different.

The restaurant was small and pretentious, the kind of overpriced dining establishment best suited for coddling majority shareholders and business executives. Relatively private and utterly unexciting. This was no publicity stunt or media event. The restaurant would've been ill-suited to spectacle, claustrophobic and exclusive as it was.

Arthur was simply conducting a business dinner. The subdued yet crowded dining room glittered with polished gold, and attentive servers circulated constantly. There was nothing suspicious about this place, and even if there had been. Merlin and Lancelot sat at a small table so near Merlin could've tossed a breadstick and landed it in Arthur's soup without even trying.

Even under circumstances like this, Merlin would not normally let his guard down. But Lancelot looked so relaxed, lingering over an expensive salmon dish on the company dime. Joking with Merlin about twelve-hour workdays and the difficulty of pursuing a romantic life in the half hour of free time he occasionally managed.

"I'm just saying," Lancelot groused, though his tone sounded too good-natured to be taken seriously, "it's difficult to convince _anyone_ I'm worth inviting to meet the family when I can't even manage a full first date."

Merlin sympathized. His own schedule may not have been quite as intense as Lancelot's—he got to go home for the day when his own work was one, didn't have to remain glued to Arthur's side until however late he insisted on remaining at the office—but that still didn't leave a whole lot of time or energy for a personal life.

"You could try dating a Pendragon employee," Merlin suggested in mock seriousness. "At least they would understand."

Lancelot snorted and shook his head. Smiled as he asked, "Are you kidding? Who would date someone who works for these pricks?"

Merlin nearly choked on his sip of water, amusement bubbling into laughter so violent it was all he could do to keep his voice down.

He didn't bother arguing the point. In any case, Merlin hadn't harbored any delusions about dating for... Longer than he would've liked to admit. Being in love with his boss put a sizable damper on romantic pursuits.

The shaking laughter quieted in his chest, and he set his water glass down more forcefully than necessary. He was trying to stop his brain from following well-trodden paths when someone several tables away gave a shout, startled and indistinct.

Merlin raised his head, attention snapping back to _now_ and _here_ with a guilty surge of fear. He couldn't tell who had shouted, but it didn't matter. A heartbeat later smoke began pouring into view. Not fire—the smoke was streaming and billowing upward from the floor far too fast to be anything so natural—but it surrounded him before he could find the source. A blinding, choking wall closing in around him, making his lungs catch and his eyes sting.

" _Arthur_!" He scrambled up from the table so fast his chair knocked to the ground, the impact inaudible through the rise of noisy panic. "Lancelot!" He rushed for Arthur's table, but when he reached it his hands closed on an empty chair where his employer should have been.

He kept his eyes clenched shut, struggling to breathe. His lungs hurt, and he held his breath, dropping low. It didn't help. Fuck, he had no hope of finding Arthur in this mess. And even if he could, he didn't know what to _do_.

A moment of fresh panic gripped at him, and denial rose like a beacon in Merlin's chest. _Fuck this_ , he thought, setting all caution and reticence aside. The wall of smoke was so complete no one could possibly see him, and even if they somehow could... He was helpless like this. He could not afford to be helpless right now.

Merlin focused his mind. _Pushed_ at the smoke all around him. Energy crackled along his skin as he created a pocket of clear air around himself.

_Now_ he could breathe. Now he could _think_. And he reached out with his senses. He touched the edges of the smoke with his mind, traced along the edges of all those chemicals and particles. He didn't have words for this—for his heightened senses—for the things he could do. Even after studying all the science he could wrap his head around in school, he had no idea exactly what this was. But he didn't need to. It didn't matter that he'd never had anyone he could talk to about it, anywhere he could go to ask _why_ he could do these things.

It only mattered that he could do them. 

Another tingling _push_ , and he changed the smoke to mist. Still impossible to see through, but no longer the choking, smothering cloud of a moment before.

He found his way out of the dining room. He was confused and disoriented—dizzy—and unsure if it was from the smoke, or the expenditure of power. Probably the smoke. It looked like he wasn't the only person dazed and unsteady. With every step his eyes scanned the crowd. Searching. Terrified, even though he had no rational reason to believe this attack—random and vicious but not at all deadly—had anything to do with him.

There was no sign of Arthur. Under normal circumstances Arthur would be searching just as impatiently as Merlin, seeking him out amid the stunned crowd. But he was not here. Merlin received no answer when he tried to call Arthur's mobile. It simply rang and rang and rang, straight through to voicemail every time. Not unheard of, but unusual for Arthur not to answer when _Merlin_ called.

All the more suspicious when calling Lancelot's number garnered the same lengthy nothing. There was still no sign of either one of them so far as Merlin could see.

That was... Fine. It was fine. It didn't prove anything bad had happened. Merlin had reached the pavement outside now, hustled along with the crowd. Lancelot must have gotten Arthur out through a different exit. Wherever they'd ended up, they'd surely landed in just as much of a madhouse as Merlin—swamped by a sea of restaurant patrons and employees coughing and shouting and demanding attention—surrounded by emergency responders trying to instill order. No wonder neither one could hear their mobiles ringing. No wonder they hadn't answered.

Merlin kept his own phone in hand, and clung stubbornly to hope as the restaurant slowly began to clear. No one had been badly hurt, which seemed unlikely under the circumstances. All the ambulances departed empty. People began stumbling away from the building, departing as it became clear there was no reason to stay.

Still no sign of Arthur or Lancelot—still no answer to Merlin's calls—and the nauseous pit of worry settled sharper in his gut.

He lingered even as the last of the crowd dispersed. Eventually, much as he hated to do it—much as he did not want to concede something was truly wrong—he called a different number. One he'd never needed to use before. Pendragon's private security line, crisis extension. He reported what happened, what he'd seen.

And then he continued to wait.

God the waiting was awful. The crowd grew thinner with every passing moment, and Merlin made his way back into the building. The handful of people still present gave Merlin strange looks. He was too obviously out of place amid the flurry of police, detectives, forensic techs. He didn't care. He intended to stay right where he was until someone insisted he leave, and so far no one seemed to care enough to order him away.

He kept trying to call Arthur. Then Lancelot. Then Arthur again.

It felt like hours were passing, and maybe they were. He gave an official statement somewhere along the way. Lingered as things slowed and quieted, and still no one could tell him anything.

When he couldn't stand still another instant, Merlin ducked past the minimal security and made his way into the empty dining room. He couldn't imagine what clues the investigators might still hope to garner, but he was careful. He touched nothing, made sure not to bump into any of the fallen furniture and cutlery and broken glass along the way.

He called Arthur's mobile again as he moved, stepping deftly around a broken chair.

Merlin froze at the sound of a barely audible buzz somewhere off to his right. He followed the sound, unhappy suspicion churning in his gut. Kept his own mobile to his ear, hung up when the call went to voicemail. The nearby buzzing stopped as Merlin redialed, started again as the steady ring resumed, and he rounded the table at which Arthur had been sitting.

The sight of Arthur's phone on the floor was no surprise. But the sight of Lancelot's lying beside it caught Merlin like a kick to the chest, and he nearly stooped to pick both mobiles up from the floor.

He stopped himself at the last moment. It wouldn't do to tamper with evidence at a crime scene.

A second later he turned on his heel, not bothering to sneak as he made his way out of the restaurant. Not caring if anyone saw him leave. He needed to be elsewhere. Somewhere. He needed to _think_. There was nothing more he could do here. 

He'd wasted too much time already.

\- — - — - — - — - — -


	4. Chapter 4

He returned to the Pendragon estate restless and miserable. There was still no sign of Arthur. Worse, there was still nothing Merlin could _do_.

The manor was even more a chaos of people than the restaurant had been. Merlin glimpsed all the same law enforcement uniforms coming and going. There was almost eerie deference in the way they reported on their investigation.

Uther Pendragon stood at the base of the staircase in the main foyer, absorbing every scrap of information. His expression looked as though it had been chiseled from stone, his face set in grim lines. His jaw clenched so tightly Merlin could almost see his teeth grinding.

Merlin stayed out of the way—out of sight—watching the tumult silently. He hated the feeling of helplessness. It was past sunset now, but he stayed. Waiting. Impatient. Nearly vibrating with the need to _do something_ and the futility of having nowhere to direct his energies.

Morgana appeared during this useless vigil. She didn't speak as she stepped into place beside him, and Merlin did not asking why she didn't approach her father. Busy as Uther looked—wrathful and unapproachable as he was making himself—Merlin wouldn't want to draw his attention either.

He gave Morgana a faint smile when she touched his arm, but neither of them said a word. For a while they simply stood. Useless, but together.

She departed eventually. Whether because she had work that couldn't wait or she simply couldn't bear to witness this whirlwind another moment longer, Merlin didn't blame her. He wished like hell there were somewhere else _he_ could be. But it was late. He had no work in Arthur's absence. And the thought of going home, of trying to scrounge up the vestiges of his own life _now_ , made his teeth grind. He couldn't do it. He would wait.

There was something grimly fascinating in watching Uther as the hours dragged on. His stern composure broke only sporadically at first—bursts of anger, wrathful impatience, shouted accusations of incompetence. But the outbursts grew more frequent. The facade of calm between grew shorter with every passing moment.

No one in range was spared the snarling lash of Uther's terrified rage.

It _was_ terror. Merlin could see that clearly, even from where he stood, a safe distance away in the shadows at the periphery of the foyer.

The ransom note arrived with an explosion of new activity.

Suddenly instead of questions without answers, they knew one thing decisively. This was a kidnapping. The ransom note did not demand Uther's money, but action: dismantle the Sentinel Program publicly. Scrap the units already under construction, provide proof that all components and research had been destroyed. Do this within one week, or Arthur Pendragon's life would be forfeit.

Merlin had his doubts—not just about Uther—but also about what could possibly constitute proof for such a demand. But then, he wasn't a scientist. That wasn't his job.

It was Uther's voice that read the ransom note aloud, to a frozen and silent foyer. The words felt like a kick to the stomach, and for several seconds Merlin thought he might actually be sick. Having it confirmed was almost worse than his soul-deep certainty that Arthur was in trouble. Now the danger had a shape, but Merlin was just as helpless as before.

It hurt. He understood the stakes. He could even understand the desperation that might drive someone to take such drastic action, to make these threats. Merlin had been living with the burn of desperation in his own chest ever since the Sentinel Program first landed on his radar. He'd been in agony at failing to find some way to stop the inexorable path forward.

But Arthur was in danger, and Merlin's other fears paled in comparison.

He startled when Uther ordered the staff not to tell Morgana about the ransom demand. Less surprising was the barked command that followed: security increase, both on and off the manor grounds. Typical of Uther Pendragon—paternalistic sod that he was—to assign extra security to tail his daughter without offering either warning or explanation.

Merlin had every intention of telling her first thing in the morning. But for now he stayed exactly where he was. Watchful. Hoping that by staying close he might learn something— _anything_ —that counted as useful.

All his talents, and he couldn't use them to find Arthur—protect him—bring him home, because he had no idea _where Arthur was_.

As the hours passed, even this flurry of activity gradually died down. Staff departed for the night, law enforcement slipped away and stopped checking in. One after another, faces vanished from the foyer, many alongside promises to call if any leads were discovered.

There was an almost universal reticence as people bid their final goodnights. Everyone who spoke directly to Uther Pendragon seemed terrified of the silent inferno of rage smoldering behind his otherwise deadened expression. Even if Merlin hadn't _known_ Uther, he would be leery of that expression; but he did know Uther, which made it all the worse.

Eventually—inevitably—the foyer stood empty. There was only Uther, a taut statue at the base of the staircase.

And Merlin, unnoticed in the shadows.

For a moment, after the enormous front door slammed shut, there was perfect stillness. Merlin didn't dare breathe in a silence so complete. He held utterly motionless.

He only needed to go unnoticed long enough for Uther to shake free of this frozen moment and retreat into his own wing of the manor. The last thing Merlin wanted was to catch Uther's notice _now_ , alone, with no distractions in sight. True, as far as anyone else knew Merlin could not possibly have protected Arthur today.

But the Uther standing before him had the distinct look of a man in need of a target. Uther could sack Merlin on the spot, and then Merlin would find himself on the wrong side of Pendragon private security, cut off from what little information he might otherwise glean. Better to hold his breath and wait for this uneasy moment to pass. Then he could depart unnoticed and…

Depart unnoticed and…

Honestly, Merlin hadn't quite figured out _what_ he intended to do next. But whatever it was, he could not do it until Uther Pendragon retired for the night.

When Uther's stillness at last shattered, it was not a burst of energy and motion; it was not a flurry of long strides carrying him deeper into the estate.

No, instead Uther crumpled where he stood. Stern and upright one instant, he dropped like a stone the next—landing hard on the second step of the central staircase. He curled in on himself and slouched forward, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his face behind them.

He was shaking so hard Merlin could see from all the way across the massive foyer.

Impossible to tell for sure, but he might have been crying.

Merlin almost— _almost_ —felt a twinge of pity for him.

But Uther did not deserve his pity. More importantly, Uther was finally distracted enough for Merlin to make his escape. So he ducked as silently as possible along the perimeter of the foyer, into the closest hall.

Rationally, Merlin knew he should leave— _really leave_ —go home to his sparse apartment and stay out of the way. Wait for word. Try to keep on top of Arthur's workload so that when his employer returned—safe and whole—there would not be a mountain of unfinished tasks urgently requiring Arthur's attention.

It would be the reasonable thing to do. It was unquestionably what Merlin _should_ do.

He considered for less than a second. Fuck reasonable. Arthur was missing, and Merlin could not simply go home and wait. Here, at least if information surfaced he would be among the first to know. He would be ready, for the first opportunity to use his arsenal of talents and bring Arthur home.

But tonight he was too tired to think straight. He would be no good to Arthur like this. What Merlin needed was a few hours' rest, and then a fresh start. A mind alert enough for the daunting task ahead. If Uther's massive network of resources couldn't track down answers, Merlin would find some other way. For tonight he could not fathom where to start; maybe tomorrow he would have better ideas. Something, _anything_ to begin his search.

Almost without conscious thought, he made his way to Arthur's rooms. They were unlocked, as always. Empty and silent, and utterly strange without Arthur's powerful presence filling the space. Merlin did not like it.

But for now, it was better than going home.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

He startled awake too few hours later. Nighttime still surrounded him, no hint of dawn through the bedroom windows. Fatigue clung beneath his skin despite the kick of adrenaline and sudden wakefulness. He blinked, rolling onto his back—he was sprawled on top of the bedclothes, hadn't even managed to get properly into bed before falling asleep—and wished he had at least bothered to take his damn shoes off. He'd managed the suit jacket and tie, was pretty sure he'd left those hanging on the bathroom door, but he'd somehow forgotten his shoes and he regretted it now.

He nearly had a heart attack when he realized he wasn't alone.

Morgana sat perfectly still, on the edge of the bed beside him. When their eyes met, she gave him a wobbly smile. "I thought I might find you here."

"You could've called my mobile if you needed me," Merlin pointed out groggily. The phone lay all of a foot of away from him, next to his pillow—Arthur's pillow—with an alarm set and the ringer volume turned as high as the settings allowed.

"That was my backup plan. Are you all right?"

"I've been better." He was more awake now, though he hadn't found quite enough energy to sit upright. There was just enough ambient light for him to get a good, clear look at Morgana—at the drawn lines of her face and the tightness around her eyes—at the way even in the dim bedroom her pallor looked ashen. His brow furrowed. "Are _you_ okay?"

She blinked at him, and the smile vanished. "Not really."

It was terrifying to hear so much candid vulnerability in her voice. In all the years he'd known Morgana, Merlin had never seen her admit to anything like it. He didn't know what to make of her confession now.

"What's wrong?" He sat quickly upright now. He meant besides the obvious, of course. Besides the fact that Arthur was missing, and Lancelot with him. Besides the worry and the fear and the uncertainty. The fact that yes, there was still hope, but they couldn't be certain Arthur was still alive let alone safe.

A sickening jolt ricocheted through Merlin as he considered the time that had passed while he slept, the number of things that might have happened while he was unconscious. The situation could have changed. There might have been news— _bad news_ —maybe Morgana had already spoken to Uther. Maybe Arthur was—

"Has something happened?" Merlin asked helplessly. Arthur had to be alive. But Merlin had no explanation for the piercing, closed-off tightness of Morgana's expression.

"Nothing's happened. Not that I know of. I'm sure my father is trying to protect me by denying me information." Her tone made it clear how little she appreciated the attempt to manipulate her. "I have other sources, though. I heard about the ransom demands. As far as I know there's been no change in the status of the investigation."

Merlin breathed fractionally easier. "Then why are you—?"

"Because I need your help," Morgana blurted. "I can trust you, can't I?"

"Of course you can trust me." Merlin didn't bother arguing further than that. He'd never given away a secret that didn't belong to him, but there was no point brandishing the fact. Morgana had already come to him—had come looking for Merlin specifically—she'd clearly already made her choice.

She regarded him silently for a long stretch of seconds. Merlin held his breath and met her eyes steadily. Patiently. Barely even blinking as he waited for her to explain whatever it was putting this indecipherable look on her face.

"You know what I am," she murmured, soft but not at all hesitant.

"I know _who_ you are," Merlin countered carefully. "And I've got an inkling of what you can do."

"An inkling," Morgana echoed with a faint smile. "It's not all sparks and igniting appliances, is the problem. I see things too. I've spent years telling myself they're just dreams, but... They're not. They're visions. And I think they've always been there."

Merlin inhaled sharply. He'd wondered so briefly, when he witnessed the flare of Morgana's abilities. He hadn't thought about it since.

"What did you see?" He sat up straighter with the question, kicking his legs over the side of the bed.

"Arthur. And Lancelot. Everything was all jumbled and out of order, but I _saw them _. Safe. And I saw you and me... Trying to reach them. Surrounded by people I didn't recognize." She paused—a moment's vibrating silence—and then finished, "Merlin, I know what _you_ can do."__

__Merlin gawped at her. He waited for the kick of fear, but it didn't come._ _

__Before he could form a coherent response, Morgana continued, "I understand why you didn't tell me. I'm not angry. But I need your help, Merlin. I can't do this without you."_ _

__"Do _what_ without me?" Merlin protested helplessly._ _

__Morgana met his eyes, steady and determined. "I know where they are."_ _

____

\- — - — - — - — - — -

Sunset crept low along the horizon.

The location Morgana had lead Merlin to was a middle-of-nowhere sort of place. Deserted, eerie, without even an idle chatter of birds to ease the jarring silence.

It wasn't quite a wilderness. Crumbling carcasses of enormous buildings clustered in close proximity to each other, long abandoned. Warehouses. Factories. All with shattered windows and missing walls. Big industrial-looking derelicts that interrupted the otherwise green and muddy landscape.

"How on _earth_ did you identify this place?" Merlin gawped at their surroundings as he and Morgana eased through scrubby patches of trees. There were no intact buildings in sight. No glimpse from here of the nearest outskirts of city. No identifiable features at all, as far as Merlin could see, and yet somehow Morgana had known exactly where to bring them.

When he threw her a sideways glance, Morgana smiled sheepishly.

"There's a placard on one of the old factory buildings," she admitted. Another moment and the smile faded. Morgana cast a measuring look along their surroundings, gaze sweeping the uneven ground. When she found whatever she was looking for, her shoulders squared off and she said, "This way. And stay ready. My vision didn't give me a coherent timeline, but I think we're about to have company."

"What kind of company?" Merlin lowered his voice, belatedly cautious.

"Armed," Morgana answered tightly. "And numerous."

They moved carefully, sneaking along the edges of the clearing. They both wore dark clothing—they'd come that prepared at least—but there were few shadows dark enough to hide them. Every near-silent step ratcheted tension tighter beneath Merlin's skin. Morgana seemed to know where they were going, but Merlin had the distinct and unpleasant sensation of navigating without a map.

He wondered, in a back corner of his mind, if Morgana's visions were set in stone, or if they left some space for maneuvering. She'd seen some sort of confrontation here. Did the warning mean they might avoid the danger? Or were they wasting valuable time trying to dodge the inevitable?

He also wondered—more and more strongly as the silence persisted—if Morgana might have gotten this wrong after all. Despite her prediction of company, they were still very much alone.

Merlin made it half a dozen more steps, around the crumbling cement corner of the nearest building, before the doubt in his head grew too loud to ignore.

"Are you _sure_ this is the place?" he asked in a measured whisper. "There's nothing here."

" _Yes_ , I'm sure," Morgana hissed. "There's more underground. Something… A subterranean complex. I didn't get a good look, but I promise it's there."

Merlin caught his lower lip between his teeth, resisting the urge to ask for information Morgana clearly didn't have. He followed as quietly as he could. Impatient but with no other options.

Morgana remained in the lead, which meant it was Morgana whose ankle caught on the nearly invisible tripwire as they neared the most intact building. Merlin heard her curse, saw her stumble and then steady herself. By the time he realized what had happened, it was too late to react. With a sharp hiss of sound, four tiny darts embedded themselves in Morgana's left arm, piercing straight through the leather sleeve of her jacket.

A fifth dart nearly clipped Merlin, but he stood just far enough behind the trap that it flew past and hit a tree to his right. Simple stupid luck. He rushed forward to Morgana's side an instant later, and caught her as she fell. She dropped hard, her eyes rolling back as whatever the hell was in those darts hit her bloodstream.

Merlin eased her down as gently as he could, tugged the darts out of her arm even though the damage was already done. He threw them into the grass and gave Morgana a hard shake, hissing her name. No surprise she remained unresponsive. Merlin's pulse raced panic-fast; how the hell was he supposed to find Arthur, let alone get everyone out of here in one piece, with Morgana unconscious?

With his entire focus on Morgana—on worrying about what chemicals had knocked her out and how he was going to get her to safety—Merlin's guard was down. He should have known better. He _did_ know better. But the crunch of booted feet on gravel still startled him.

He raised his eyes to find more than a dozen strangers surrounding them, faces stony and firearms steady in their hands. Every weapon was aimed directly at Merlin's head, and he bit his tongue to keep from cursing aloud. 

Merlin kept his movements slow as he let go of Morgana and raised his hands toward the sky. He did his best to look helpless and terrified. It didn't take much effort under the circumstances; even with the considerable advantages up his sleeve, he was painfully outnumbered. And these people were armed. Once they knew what he was capable of, how long before they overpowered him anyway? How long before they called in reinforcements? If there was some kind of bunker beneath them _right now_ , how many more enemies might be close at hand?

At least no one immediately opened fire. Merlin kept as many of them in sight as he could, but a quick glance confirmed they circle stretched all the way behind him. There was nowhere to go, and no way to keep his eyes on all of them at once.

Fuck.

He wondered, fleeting and distracted, how clearly Morgana had seen this. Wondered if she'd realized she would be out of commission. 

Of course she hadn't realized. She couldn't have, or surely she would've given Merlin every possible scrap of information to work with.

There was no warning—no signal that Merlin could see—so when a handful of the surrounding weapons fired at once, Merlin had a fraction of a second to react. He heard them, saw the flash in his peripheral vision, and twisted toward the handful of enemies who had just fired their guns in unison.

Reflex guided him, and he held his hand out. Used every ounce of concentration to catch the projectiles in the air and hold them just out of reach.

They weren't bullets. He realized this only after he held them suspended in midair. More darts. Probably dosed with whatever had so quickly immobilized Morgana. Every eye staring at him widened at the show of power, and Merlin draw a shaky breath. He'd just wasted the element of surprise—his only true advantage—and his limited options were growing fewer by the second.

He took a steadier breath and then—after a heartbeat to ground himself—he focused his mind and gave a single hard _push_ , growling aloud with the effort. The air contracted and rushed around him, and the entire ring of strangers flew backward. Into the air and _away_ , some of their trajectories arcing halfway across the clearing before depositing them in the mud.

Merlin rose into a crouch, desperate to make a move, but he was still trapped. There was no open path. The enemy had already begun scrambling to unsteady feet. Merlin didn't have time to make a break for it with Morgana unconscious, dead weight in his arms. There was nowhere to go.

He needed to find a way to incapacitate the tiny battalion already closing ranks. Somehow. Preferably without killing them. Arthur was close, and Merlin needed to reach him; but the thought of taking someone's life to do it… 

He couldn't bear to consider it.

He would have to think of something else, and _fast_. The circle was already beginning to form around him again, and he wouldn't catch them off guard a second time. He might really have to hurt them. The thought sent a burst of nausea twisting through his gut. But if the alternative was letting both Morgana and Arthur down—getting them killed—what choice did Merlin have?

More purposeful movement caught in Merlin's peripheral vision, someone striding toward the ring of ragged soldiers. Merlin turned toward the approaching figure—

—and froze in furious confusion.

" _Merlin_?" Lancelot looked and sounded just as shocked as Merlin felt. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Careless to let his guard down, but the sight of Lancelot caught him so flat-footed that for an instant everything else faded. When a woman on the opposite side of the circle fired her weapon, Merlin was not fast enough. He turned, tried to react, but the dart caught him just below the shoulder. A sting of impact, a blurring of his senses.

He was unconscious before he even managed to snarl Lancelot's name.


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin woke groggy and motionless, senses immediately on high alert despite the fading lull of the sedative. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, waiting for the fog to pass. Listening for any information he might glean with just his ears.

His shoulders ached—his arms were trapped behind his back—uncomfortable and immobile. He didn't need to _move_ to know he was restrained, and he kept his breathing steady by force of will. He could hear rustling fabric nearby. Sporadic footsteps of booted feet, on ground too solid to be dirt. From the dull echo he guessed he was in a vast but enclosed space.

Cautiously, he opened his eyes just enough to peer through his lashes.

He'd been right about the surrounding space: cement walls and floor, a ceiling so high he couldn't see it. This was some kind of hangar, almost certainly underground considering Morgana's vision. A handful of armed guards stood near enough to make it clear escape wasn't an option.

On the floor beside him, at the very edge of his vision, Merlin could see a boot and a pant leg that had to belong to Morgana. He _hoped_ they belonged to Morgana, and that she was okay, but he couldn't twist his head to be sure without alerting their captors that he was awake.

A steadying breath grounded him only a little, and he drew his focus inward. Set aside the surrounding hangar, the guards, his unconscious friend just out of reach. He considered his wrists, trapped at the small of his back. He was hesitant to move too much, but he needed more information. His abilities couldn't help him remove whatever was restraining him without _some_ idea of the mechanism.

There was no give at all when he gave a faint twist of one arm. Not rope, then. That was actually good. Rope and knots were complicated, difficult to manipulate without simply tightening his bonds. But if they were handcuffs—or even something more technologically advanced—there would be a catch, a switch, a release. He just had to find it.

Before he could make any progress, there came a flurry of approaching footsteps, loud and hurried and echoing from the open corridor behind the nearest guards. Merlin held himself perfectly still, willing himself ready for any distraction.

All thoughts of strategy and escape vanished when the heavy footfalls materialized into a single figure rushing into the hangar.

_Arthur_. What the bloody hell was going on?

Merlin opened his eyes wide, but he made no move to sit up.

"For god's sake, get them out of those restraints." Arthur glared at the closest guards as he slowed his pace and reached Merlin's side. "They're not enemy combatants. They're my sister and my personal assistant."

His tone was so exasperated that Merlin couldn't quash a huff of dry laughter. Quiet. Disbelieving. Arthur looked him right in the face, eyebrow arching as though to ask what Merlin thought was so damn funny. But he was kneeling at Merlin's side now, reaching for him. Helping him upright.

With his eyes open and no more reason to keep still, Merlin could see Morgana clearly. She was curled unconscious beside him, her chest rising and falling steadily. She looked restful, asleep, but that didn't mean she was safe. What the hell had they drugged her with?

"She'll be fine." Arthur sounded so confident that Merlin believed him without hesitation. "She caught a double dose of the sedative, but the medics checked her out. Aside from a nasty hangover, they promise there won't be any negative effects."

"Thank god," Merlin breathed.

Arthur's gaze cut away, back to the guards. "Seriously, people? Can I _please_ get the keys to these damn cuffs? Someone?"

Before anyone could do more than fidget awkwardly, an unfamiliar woman swept into the hangar. She had dark skin, freckles, curly hair dragged back in a stern braid. Her loose, practical clothing could easily have been military. She wore heavy boots and moved with a purposeful stride. There was something regal about her, every movement confident and self-assured, as she swept toward them.

Her face was unexpectedly kind.

"Even if we wanted to keep him restrained, I don't think the cuffs would do much good." Her soft voice carried a wry edge. She stopped several paces away and looked Merlin directly in the eye. "After what we saw you do outside? I'd bet you're just biding your time right now."

Merlin blinked at her and very pointedly did not answer. He could feel Arthur staring at him, but he didn't dare look his employer in the eye. If this woman knew what he was capable of, then Arthur must know too. And considering the lengths to which Merlin had gone in hiding this secret, he wasn't quite ready to face the consequences.

The woman turned to one of the guards and said, "Well? Are you really going to make him work for it after everything we already put him through? Release him."

One of the guards finally broke from the pack, producing a small metal key. He knelt behind Merlin first, and there was a metallic catch, a clank as the restraints fall to the floor. Normal handcuffs. Merlin would definitely have figured those out and gotten free before long. The guard freed Morgana next, though unconscious as she was, she didn't move from her position curled on her side.

Merlin could have risen on his own now that he had the use of his hands back, but he didn't protest when Arthur helped him to his feet. He bit his tongue to keep from commenting when Arthur's hand remained at his back, palm flat against his spine. It was a strangely protective gesture.

"Merlin, this is Gwen." Arthur nodded to the newly arrived woman who was clearly in charge. "This is her base, her crew. She helped me coordinate this whole kidnapping and ransom scenario."

Oh.

_Oh_.

Oh, in retrospect it was painfully obvious. The fact that Lancelot was here. The fact that Arthur clearly had the freedom to move about as he pleased. He was not a prisoner. He had orchestrated this mess himself.

Merlin's mind flew back to a frustrated conversation. To Arthur's blunt voice snapping, _Maybe I am doing something_ , and then the immediate evasiveness that followed. This must have been his intention all along. His plan.

Merlin resisted the urge to point out that a kidnapping and ransom plot wasn't likely to improve public disposition toward mutants. It wasn't as though he'd managed to offer any other practical alternative. Hell, he'd seen for himself just how immovable Uther Pendragon was. He couldn't really fault the man's son for seeking out a more extreme strategy, no matter how ill-advised.

He turned his head and found Arthur watching him—staring hard, an unreadable expression on his face.

The intensity of the look was enough to lodge Merlin's voice in his chest, tighten his throat, make it impossible to speak. It wasn't fair that he felt like _he_ needed to defend his presence here. Of course he had come. How could Arthur have expected he wouldn't get involved?

He wondered if Arthur would say something. If _Arthur_ would try to explain.

But when Arthur did break the silence it was only to say, "Come on. Gwen had temporary quarters prepared for you and Morgana." He stooped and swept Morgana easily into his arms, then stood with his unconscious sister cradled awkwardly but protectively against his chest. Another glance Merlin's direction and then a snapped command. "This way."

Merlin followed silently. What other choice did he have?

\- — - — - — - — - — -

They moved through cement-and-metal-sided corridors, deeper and deeper below ground. It felt like a bunker, or maybe a military barracks. Spartan and crowded, people moving with obvious purpose along the halls. No one paid any mind to Merlin, or to Arthur with Morgana unconscious in his arms. With every step Merlin became more certain that they were among allies, perhaps even friends.

And with every step he grew more angry.

He held his tongue with difficulty. There were too many people moving past them, and sound carried too well. He couldn't unleash his frustrations without making a scene.

His chest hurt with how badly he wanted answers—or maybe the ache came from the fact that no matter what explanation Arthur might give for this idiotic plan, it wouldn't be enough to soothe Merlin's wounded feelings. Not just his pride, but something more visceral. It hurt that Arthur had not trusted him with this.

Then again, perhaps Arthur had been worried Merlin would talk him out of it. It was a _bad plan_. And there were few people better positioned to make Arthur's life difficult than Merlin.

It still hurt. And Merlin bit his lower lip to keep silent as Arthur began to speak.

"This place goes down almost thirty levels. It's a whole community, completely secret." Arthur shifted aside to let a broad-shouldered mutant with spiny skin pass along the narrow hall. "With politicians like my father maneuvering to make mutants' lives impossible, a lot of people have been forced underground. Sometimes literally."

Merlin opened his mouth despite his efforts to stay quiet. "Arthur—"

"That's where this place comes in," Arthur barreled on, voice low but determined. "Gwen found the basement levels that were already here. She and her team expanded on them and just… kept going. It's practically a city down here. Somewhere people with visible mutations can be safe, and _everyone_ can join the fight."

No point asking what the 'fight' entailed. Whatever it was, it clearly wasn't succeeding. If it were, Gwen wouldn't have jumped onboard with Arthur's awful kidnapping plan. Only desperation could inspire an otherwise competent leader to such poor judgment, and Gwen was obviously competent. Or perhaps Arthur hadn't consulted her first. Stubborn, self-righteous prat that he was, maybe Arthur had simply _decided_ this was the best course, made it happen, and then turned up on her doorstep. Proud and smug and certain he had saved the world.

At last they reached a quieter stretch of corridors. The space was just as claustrophobic, but now with almost nobody rushing past.

" _Arthur_ ," Merlin tried again, a little more emphatic.

"We're in the dormitory levels of the facility now." Arthur's pace slowed, and he nodded toward a collection of buttons and controls on a dark patch of wall. "I can't draw you a map—security rules—but if I'm not here and you get lost, you can contact me through any of these base-wide comm panels. And there's a cafeteria two floors directly above us."

Anger flared in Merlin's blood—Arthur did not get to will him quiet simply by talking over him—it had never worked under ordinary circumstances, and it certainly wouldn't work now. He was done biting his tongue; he had far too much to say, whether Arthur wanted to hear it or not.

Despite the abundance of more important problems before them, Merlin blurted, "I can't believe you told Lancelot what you were planning and not me." The words came out loud, sharp, baldly accusatory. Arthur's head whipped toward him, and brown eyes widened in answer.

An instant later Arthur jerked his gaze away and came to a stop directly in front of a closed door. It was identical to the other doors lining the hall, but Arthur nodded toward it and said, "Open this one, would you?"

Merlin glared as he slipped past Arthur to press a brightly lit panel—trusting that it was a button meant to open the damn thing—and felt vindicated when the door slid aside to reveal a narrow room with two bunks set on opposite walls. No other furniture, though from the paneled and sectioned look of the back wall Merlin suspected there were more amenities here than appeared at first glance.

Arthur studiously avoided Merlin's eyes as he crossed the threshold and set Morgana down on one of the bunks, moving as carefully as possible and making sure the thin pillow was beneath her head. It wasn't until Arthur was sitting on the edge of the mattress, hands clasped atop his knees, that he looked Merlin directly in the eye. There was a glint that might have been guilt flashing behind an otherwise cryptic expression. He pursed his lips for a moment before finally, quietly, responding to Merlin's outburst.

"I _had_ to tell Lancelot. He's my full-time bodyguard. I never could've pulled this off without one of us getting hurt if he _didn't know_. I needed him onboard. _You_ , on the other hand…" Arthur paused, just a fragment of hesitation. Just enough to make Merlin's heart give an unpleasant lurch, as he realized he didn't know what to make of the new ferocity in Arthur's eyes. Arthur's voice was distinctly strained when he concluded, "I needed to keep you out of the line of fire."

Merlin's instinctive protest stalled in his chest. There was desperation in what Arthur had just admitted. An incautious hint at more powerful feelings. The confession left Merlin off-balance, a knot of _something_ twisting hard in his chest.

He stood immobile for several seconds, unable to break from the piercing weight of Arthur's stare. Finally he managed to ease farther into the room—far enough that the door shut soundlessly—and sat on the opposite bunk. Not quite directly in front of Arthur, but near enough.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said. He looked suddenly, startlingly… sad. 

Merlin blinked. "What? For all this?" He honestly hadn't expected Arthur to apologize to him for this whole bolloxed scheme.

"For not being someone you could confide in." Arthur stood suddenly, turned his back, and with the reprieve Merlin could breathe again. "I thought I knew you so well, but I never realized…"

Oh. This wasn't about Arthur's idiot plan going sideways. This was about Merlin's secret, and Arthur—self-involved prat—wondering how he'd missed what was right in front of him. It should have been infuriating, but somehow it wasn't. Maybe because Merlin knew his employer too well to expect wisdom. Maybe because, spoiled as Arthur could be, it had never been enough to prevent Merlin from falling for him.

Merlin rose now, even though he'd only just sat down. He moved to stand immediately behind Arthur in the small space. Stared at the tense line of broad shoulders. He could think of nothing to say. He wasn't going to apologize for protecting himself—and it was obvious Arthur didn't expect him to—but that left silence hanging uncertainly between them.

It was Arthur who spoke at last. "I know it's rude to ask what you can do…" The way he tapered off was a contradictory sort of plea. Asking the question while simultaneously admitting he had no claim on the answers.

"I don't mind," Merlin said softly. Arthur had already learned his secret. The details would do no further harm.

Arthur turned, and for just an instant seemed startled at how close Merlin was standing. Not quite close enough to be improper, but nearly. If pressed, Merlin would blame the smallness of the room. The narrow strip of floor between the two bunks. He didn't retreat. He was genuinely surprised Arthur didn't either.

"I saw the video footage," Arthur admitted. "It looked like simple telekinesis, but… Gwen insists that's not everything. She's got other sensor equipment outside, and it picked up _more_. She said her scientists have never seen anything like it."

Merlin gave a sheepish smile, a lopsided shrug. "I don't really know what it is. It's not like I've had the resources to get real answers." The world had never been that benevolent. "But I think it has something to do with molecules. I can move things, yeah, but I can also manipulate them. Change them."

Arthur stared, eyes wide with something that could have been awe. "God, really?"

"I'm a lot more talented than you give me credit for."

"Merlin, there is literally no one on this planet more talented than you." Arthur actually sounded offended at having to say as much aloud. There was no doubting his sincerity. "I was already sure of that _before_ today. And now…" He tapered off. Self-conscious perhaps, or maybe just hesitant to bestow an earnest compliment. Sincerity was not their default manner of interaction; they both tended to prefer wry humor and exasperation.

They were still standing too close together, and as the tiny room fell quiet, the lack of distance became more difficult to ignore. Once more Merlin found himself wondering, against all rational precedent, if Arthur wanted to kiss him.

It was just as foolish a notion now, and he wasn't surprised when Arthur turned away. Arthur cast one last worried glance downward, toward Morgana.

"Will you stay with her?" Arthur asked in a voice gone low and thick. "She shouldn't wake alone here, she'll be confused and terrified."

Of course she would be confused and terrified. Merlin would too. This place was strange and impossible, and her last waking memory was not likely to put her in a calm sort of mood.

"Of course I'll stay. Where are _you_ going?" There wasn't space for all three of them to sleep in this room, but the thought of Arthur vanishing into the massive bunker surrounding them…

Merlin didn't cherish the idea.

"There's still work to do. Gwen needs me. But I won't be far. And if you require anything…"

"I'll figure out the comm panels," Merlin promised. That Arthur had not offered to demonstrate meant they must be simple to operate. He wasn't concerned about that. And much as he wished Arthur would stay, he couldn't think of an argument that might outweigh the responsibilities demanding attention elsewhere.

Arthur maneuvered past without touching him, despite the narrowness of the aisle between the two bunks. He paused at the door, and turned to offer a final apologetic look.

"Good night, Merlin."

"G'night," Merlin echoed, and silently watched him go.


	6. Chapter 6

Merlin woke with a hard jolt. Certain—despite the lack of windows or clocks—that this was an hour only a sadist would call 'morning'.

It took him only a second to identify what had woken him. The lights of the little room—panels along the ceiling that had been decisively _off_ when Merlin fell sleep—were flickering frantically, strobing in a chaotic rhythm that made his head hurt.

There could be any number of causes, but Merlin knew exactly what this was. He rose from his bunk, wide awake in an instant. Two steps across the narrow aisle, and he sat on the edge of Morgana's bed. Taking in with a glance the sight of unsettled sleep and shallow breathing, the rapid movement of her eyes beneath the lids. Vision or simple nightmare, he had no way to know.

Before he could decide whether to wake her, the door slid open behind him, not quite soundless. Merlin rushed to his feet, ready to fight. Despite Arthur's reassurances—despite the fact that he would never have left Merlin and Morgana alone if they weren't safe here—Merlin didn't know this place. He didn't trust it.

He found Gwen standing just inside the door, flanked on either side by guards far too skinny to be imposing. But then, Merlin was equally unimpressive, and _he_ was a force to be reckoned with. He couldn't afford to underestimate anyone.

His readiness to fight proved unnecessary. Gwen raised her eyes from a pinging piece of handheld equipment and took in the room with a single sweeping look.

"Stand down and wait in the hall," she said to her small entourage. They immediately fell back, leaving the room far less crowded, and Gwen gave Merlin an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if I startled you. We didn't know what had activated the alert system."

"Oh." Merlin blinked at her. It was remarkably difficult to focus on her face with the lights still flashing unpredictably.

"This isn't you," Gwen said softly. Her gaze dropped to Morgana, still restlessly asleep. " _She's_ doing this. You didn't tell me she's one of us."

Merlin gave a helpless shrug. "Not my secret to share." He wished there _were_ some way he could take credit for what's happening. Give Morgana the choice of whether or not to reveal her abilities. But since he couldn't stop what was happening without waking her, there was nothing he could do. "Will you please leave? So I can wake Morgana and explain what the hell is going on?"

"Of course," Gwen agreed. She backed quickly toward the door. "I'm so sorry for the intrusion. Don't hesitate to contact me if she needs anything. I know these are unusual circumstances, but I promise you, we're here to help."

A moment later and Gwen was gone, the door securely shut behind her. Alone once more, Merlin put his focus back where it belonged.

It took very little effort to wake Morgana. Her name, a firm shake of her shoulders. She blinked, disoriented, and her gaze moved groggily as she took in the room without sitting up. When her eyes found Merlin there were questions behind them.

But at least the lights stopped flickering. Fading, leaving only the faint illumination of emergency panels along the floor. Merlin hadn't found a way to turn them off last night; he suspected they _couldn't_ be deactivated. But that was fine. It meant he could still see Morgana's face. From the pained way she was looking at him, he suspected the full force of the ceiling lights would not be welcome.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Awful," she answered. "I haven't been this hungover since my graduation party."

Merlin bit back a smile. He remembered that party. Arthur had gotten tipsy—an unusual occurrence—and the silly candor of the night had warmed Merlin's heart for weeks after.

"Where the hell are we?" Morgana asked.

Merlin told her, as completely as he could. It didn't make for a coherent explanation. He told her about the booby trap, the sedative, and the small army that had apprehended them. About Lancelot. And about Arthur. He told her what little he understood of this place, and about their hostess, whose kindness he desperately wanted to trust.

"Oh my god." Morgana had slowly eased upright along with the explanation, but she flopped back against the pillow when Merlin finished. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she raised one hand to rub at her forehead. "My brother is an _idiot_. I cannot fucking believe him."

"Yeah," Merlin agreed. There was no point arguing about it. Arthur _was_ an idiot. Nothing they could do about it now. "And if he doesn't know you're a mutant yet, I think he's about to. You set off the base's security systems with your power fluctuations just now." There was a chance Gwen wouldn't report the occurrence to Arthur, but Merlin considered it a slim one. Gwen was _Arthur's_ friend and contact, not to mention leader of an illegal subterranean township. It was difficult to picture her keeping this secret under the circumstances.

"Of course I did." Morgana bit her lower lip and stifled a groan.

"Are you okay alone for a while?" Merlin asked. "I could try and find something for that headache."

"Find me something for the nausea too," Morgana muttered.

Merlin gave a small smile that she did not see, and rose to his feet. "Try not to break the electrical systems while I'm gone."

"No promises."

\- — - — - — - — - — -

Despite the unfamiliar surroundings, Merlin wasn't especially anxious as he stepped into the hall. For one thing, he'd been paying attention when Arthur led the way. He could retrace his steps if he got off track.

He had every intention of stopping by the cafeteria below the dormitory levels too. His own stomach was rumbling impatiently—he'd been too shaken to think about food last night—and surely once Morgana's nausea had settled, she would be hungry for breakfast too.

For another, more important thing, Merlin had always been an excellent snoop. He was good at sticking his nose in things that were none of his business. And this compound was _full_ of things that weren't his business.

Most of the doors Merlin passed were closed, so he touched one control panel after another. Some of them remained firmly shut. Others opened and he ducked his head in, hoping for either an infirmary or at least someone he could ask for directions.

It would've been simple enough to activate one of the comm panels and call on Arthur, but Merlin was feeling too stubborn—and too angry—to use Arthur as anything but a last resort.

He passed an incredible variety of rooms in his search. Tech labs, auditoriums, recreational facilities, wide spaces that could have been garages or hangar bays had they not been completely enclosed. Storage areas, conference rooms, more than one gymnasium. There was even a pool adjacent to a garden—far more greenery than Merlin would have predicted this far underground.

The garden was the first place anyone actually acknowledged his presence, and when Merlin asked about the nearest medical facility, a woman with faintly glowing purple stripes directed him up two floors.

He still stuck his head through most of the doors he passed, curiosity outweighing concern for Morgana's discomfort.

Even once he finally reached the correct corridor—the double doors directly ahead would lead to the medical bay—he kept trying doors. Most of them in this hall lead to empty rooms clearly intended as either workout spaces or sparring facilities. Wide open, padded floors, smooth walls, perfect circles painted on the ground. It made sense, in a strange sort of way. If you governed an underground city whose population possessed mutant abilities—and if survival ultimately depended on an ability to defend yourself and your people—of course you would need safe, controlled areas to hone an enormous range of abilities. 

Given that some of those abilities were dangerous and unpredictable, it made equal sense to locate them in close proximity to the medical bay.

Most of the rooms were empty. But stepping through the second-to-last door, Merlin froze and stared at Arthur and Lancelot circling each other. They were obviously braced for a fight. Hell, not just braced for it; it was obvious they'd already been sparring for some time. Their clothes—loose and comfortable—were dark with sweat, their hair plastered wetly to their scalps.

They moved beneath a bright light that illuminated only the ring at the center of the room, leaving the perimeter in shadow. Neither seemed to have heard the door hiss open. They hadn't noticed Merlin.

He should announce himself. It was the right thing to do, better than hovering in the shadows and watching in silence.

But Merlin was not interested in 'right' when it came to moments like this. He rarely bothered to feel guilty about his nosy habits. Under the circumstances he felt especially little remorse, as he remained near the open door and stared without a word.

"Hang on," Arthur said, and for a second Merlin thought perhaps Arthur had realized they weren't alone. But all he did was pause in his circling long enough to drag the sweat-soaked t-shirt over his head and toss it aside. Then the two men were circling again, both grinning as they snapped to sudden movement. They closed on each other so fast it was difficult to keep track of them.

Merlin watched as Arthur threw a punch, only for Lancelot to knock the approaching fist aside. They scuffled, dodged, danced around each other in an impressive flurry of movement. Merlin was honestly surprised. He'd known Arthur could fight. But Lancelot must have spent hours, weeks, _years_ training him for the two to move so intuitively together.

Ridiculous that the sight ignited a twinge of jealousy in Merlin's chest.

After several long minutes, Lancelot managed to sweep Arthur's legs from beneath him and knock him to the mat. Arthur landed with a grunt, and slapped his flattened palm to the ground. Once. Twice. A third time in quick succession. It must have been a deliberate signal, because Lancelot eased back and dropped to the floor as Arthur pushed upright.

They sat cross-legged exactly where they had landed, both breathing hard, both grinning with obvious satisfaction.

"You said you'd go easy on me," Arthur grumbled without rancor.

"I lied."

Arthur laughed, loud and genuine, and the sound made Merlin ache. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Arthur laugh like that. Arthur always seemed so serious—weighed down by his responsibilities and Uther's expectations—by the frustration of constantly butting heads with his own father.

Even now the laughter faded quickly, replaced by a more somber expression.

"Did _you_ know?" Arthur asked in a softer voice.

"Know what?" A spark of comprehension belied Lancelot's question.

"About Merlin. About the things he can do. All these years… How did I fail to see what was right in front of me?"

Lancelot's expression turned to sympathy—not quite pity but close—and he answered, "Yes. I knew." When Arthur's eyes narrowed, Lancelot continued, "It's my job to always be watching you, and Merlin is _always_ at your side. If I told you how many times he's saved your reckless arse, you honestly wouldn't believe me."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"Arthur," Lancelot chided. The faintest edge of an exasperated smile softened the words.

Arthur fell silent for a moment. A _long_ moment. Finally he repeated, "How did I not see it?"

"Do you really want an answer to that question?" Lancelot asked.

Arthur's eyes narrowed and he gave a stiff nod.

"You find Merlin distracting."

"What the hell does that have to do with—"

"You said you wanted an answer," Lancelot interrupted Arthur's outburst. "Are you going to let me talk?"

Arthur quieted, but he clearly was not happy about it. Lancelot quirked an eyebrow as though in challenge. Merlin held his breath and prayed no one would hear the suddenly too-loud pounding of his heart in his chest.

"You find Merlin distracting," Lancelot repeated. "And you put a great deal of effort into making sure no one notices. Considering how much energy you spend trying _not_ to look at him more than you should… Is it really so surprising?"

"When you put it that way…" Arthur cut his gaze downward and glared at the ground. 

Merlin's heart, already beating too fast, rushed painfully behind his ribs. His lungs hurt from holding his breath, and he couldn't tell if the way his senses were spinning was want of air or something else entirely. Bloody hell, how had he not known this? All these years pretending away a guilty infatuation, and Arthur was…

Arthur was what?

Distracted by him. That much Lancelot had said plainly, and Arthur hadn't refuted it. But there were degrees of distraction. Did Arthur want to touch him? Did Arthur have feelings for him? Those times Merlin had been so irrationally certain Arthur would kiss him… Was there a chance he'd been right?

Lancelot's voice, when it cut through the quiet a moment later, was painfully kind. "It takes a lot to keep your feelings hidden. Don't beat yourself up about it."

Arthur snorted and shook his head. "I shouldn't feel these things in the first place. He's an employee. I've got no business wanting more."

"No," Lancelot agreed. "But you can't choose who you fall in love with either."

"Jesus." Arthur's eyes closed, and his shoulders hunched around his ears. "Don't call it that."

"What? Love? Are you really going to sit there and pretend that's _not_ what this is?"

Arthur drew a shaky breath and shook his head hard. "Christ, this is a mess. What if he figures it out?"

"He probably will." Lancelot shrugged. "He's smart. It's why you hired him. It's why he's the only p.a. you ever kept for more than two weeks. He'll put it together eventually."

"Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?" Arthur sounded very nearly panicked now. Tight and tense as he stared Lancelot down. 

Again Lancelot shrugged. He didn't look particularly worried—hell, if he'd figured out Merlin was a mutant, he'd almost certainly figured out Merlin's other secret—but to his credit he kept his mouth shut.

"Let's talk about something else before I give myself a heart attack." Arthur relaxed his posture, every movement deliberate. He stretched his neck from side to side, eased his shoulders down. "Have you asked Gwen to dinner yet?"

Merlin did not wait to hear Lancelot's answer. Pulse still thudding in his ears, he backed out the still open door and hurried along the hall.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

The medical staff was helpful and efficient, which meant within ten minutes Merlin was back in his borrowed quarters with Morgana. No sticking his head through unfamiliar doors on his return trip—he'd seen what was behind most of them already, and in any case his willingness to waste time had vanished. The sooner he made sure Morgana was all right, the sooner he could find Arthur and demand honest answers.

He was not entirely certain what he would do with those answers. It seemed too much to hope: that his ridiculous infatuation was not one-sided. That Arthur might _listen_ , might even let Merlin close. If these feelings were truly mutual, why shouldn't they find new common ground?

Rationally, Merlin knew there were plenty of reasons Arthur should continue to keep him at arm's length. But he couldn't prevent the wild, reckless hope that maybe they could reach a different understanding.

Morgana accepted the medicine gratefully when Merlin returned to their quarters. The lights remained low, and he waited. Quiet. Certain Morgana was not actually asleep, but reluctant to bother her. Better to let her lie there with her eyes closed and her breathing steady. Let her rest as the chemicals hit her bloodstream and began their work.

He ducked out of their quarters only briefly. Just long enough to venture two floors down to the promised cafeteria. It was boring and efficient. The food was provided by some unseen mechanism, and there were rows of sturdy metal tables running the narrow length of the room. He realized only as he ate just how famished he'd become, and he felt calmer and more grounded by the time he finished.

He took some food back to the room. Nothing fancy, and nothing that would suffer for being ignored a few hours, in case Morgana was slow to take interest. A couple of energy bars and a bag of crisps—the mundane fare of a normal cafeteria—as though they weren't twenty-some stories below ground in a top secret bunker.

Back in their quarters, Merlin found Morgana lying as motionless as before, but she blinked when she heard him approach.

"Whatever that stuff was," she murmured, "It's damned effective."

"You're feeling better?" Merlin asked cautiously. The last thing he wanted was to seem impatient—he had no intention of telling Morgana how desperate he was to get out of this room.

"Infinitely." Morgana pushed herself upright and kicked her legs over the edge of the bunk. The mattress was set so low her feet easily reached the ground. She rolled her shoulders, stretching her neck to the left, then the right. Her face no longer wore the tightly scrunched discomfort from before. "Can you tell me anything more about this place?"

Merlin mirrored her pose on his own bunk and gave a one-shouldered shrug. "It's huge. And I think it's a _good_ place. You'd think somewhere like this they'd have to maintain all kinds of restrictions, but I had free access. No one stopped me from going wherever the hell I wanted on my way to the medical bay."

"And the people?"

"I didn't talk to many people. Just the medics and a couple lab techs. And Gwen, before you woke up. She seemed genuinely worried about you."

"Me? Or the damage I might've done to their electrical grid?" Morgana's tone was wry, but she didn't seem upset. "Not that I'd blame her. I'm sure an electrical fire would be disastrous down here."

Merlin considered the question seriously, despite the fact that it had been asked in jest. He tended to have good instincts for people, and his every sense told him Gwen was solid. That she had her heart in the right place.

The fact that Lancelot was interested in her romantically—or at least that Arthur assumed such a connection—was a distinct point in her favor.

"Honestly, I think she was more worried for you than for the electrical grid."

Morgana blinked at him, surprised but credulous.

She might have been on the verge of asking for more information, but before she could, the door gave a soft chime announcing a guest. Merlin stood quickly and hurried across the room. That could be Arthur. He touched the control panel and the door slid open.

It was not Arthur. Gwen stood in the hall instead, looking determined and curious.

"Hi," she said. "Sorry to intrude, I just… wanted to make sure you have everything you need."

"Oh." Merlin scrambled to catch up. "We're fine. Thank you."

Gwen met his eyes steadily. "I could give you a tour of the facilities, or at least have a proper meal brought."

"I ate in the cafeteria." Merlin stepped aside to allow their guest into the room. "But Morgana probably wouldn't mind something more filling." He gestured toward the energy bars and the bag of crisps. He hadn't gotten the chance to offer them up yet, but Morgana must be starving by now.

He was genuinely surprised when Morgana rose from the bed and announced, "I wouldn't mind a tour, actually. If you're not too busy?"

Gwen smiled, a lopsided and strangely delighted expression. "Of course. We'll start with the cafeteria and end with the main training hall. If you're feeling up to it, maybe we can do some work with your abilities."

Morgana's eyes widened. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Gwen's smile softened, and even without knowing her at all, Merlin could read sympathy and reassurance radiating from that look. "Trust me. We see all sorts of talent here, some incredibly destructive. We know what we're doing. I think I can help you, if it's something you want."

A long moment passed, Morgana staring as though she didn't quite believe the offer could be sincere. But there was also a spark of hope in her silence. And when she straightened her shoulders and raised her chin, there was no hint of doubt or distrust.

"I'd like that. Very much."

Gwen beamed even wider, then turned to Merlin. "You're welcome to join us, of course."

Merlin hesitated. He _should_ say yes. The fact that Arthur trusted Gwen was enough to calm any anxiety Merlin might have for his own safety, or Morgana's, but that didn't mean he should abandon his friend now. Morgana hadn't seen any of this compound, hadn't been conscious when Arthur first showed Merlin to these quarters. He couldn't simply desert her.

But Morgana was watching him when he glanced her way. Her expression was knowing—it made him feel exposed—made him wonder if she could see through his hesitation to the reasoning beneath.

"It's okay." She touched his arm, giving a light squeeze. "You want to find Arthur. Go ahead. I'll be fine."

Merlin stared, his mouth agape. His every instinct screamed at him to deny it, but denial would be even more suspicious. She wasn't accusing him of anything. Yes, she looked very much like she knew exactly what he was thinking, but she hadn't said the words.

"You're sure?" he managed at last.

"Absolutely." Morgana's hand fell away. She looked to Gwen and smiled a cautious smile. "Shall we?"

\- — - — - — - — - — -

He did not get the chance to go searching for Arthur. Barely five minutes after Gwen and Morgana departed, a chime sounded to signal a visitor at Merlin's door, and he knew. Before he even stood up to open the door, he knew.

Arthur had come to find him first.

Merlin ignored the rush of heat to his face, the eager rhythm of his own pulse as he opened the door. There stood Arthur in the hall. He was dressed in fresh clothing. More casual than Merlin was accustomed to—he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Arthur wear bluejeans. Or a t-shirt for that matter.

The t-shirt was just a shade too tight. Merlin did his best not to stare as he gestured Arthur across the threshold and let the door slide shut.

There was jittery energy in Arthur's posture, and in the way his gaze darted about the room.

"For god's sake, sit down," Merlin muttered. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes—barely—and watched as Arthur dropped to the edge of Morgana's bunk. Those broad shoulders hunched forward, and Merlin wondered just what it was making Arthur so visibly anxious. Possibly he knew what Merlin had overheard, but it didn't seem likely. Surely he would've avoided being alone with Merlin, if he had any idea what Merlin had learned.

Something else, then. This harebrained kidnapping scheme, maybe.

"You must have questions," Arthur said into the uneven quiet. "About this place. About Gwen."

"About your terrible plan?" Merlin suggested. Arthur's posture tensed even further. So that _was_ it. Arthur was bracing for… Not a fight necessarily, but disapproval. An argument. And while Merlin suspected he would never admit it, that posture said he knew just how badly he'd fucked up.

"It's not a terrible plan," Arthur muttered stubbornly, staring down at his tightly clasped hands.

Merlin sighed, staring down at Arthur's stiff shoulders, his bowed head. Frustration warred with more protective instincts. Arthur was _wrong_. But he also looked small and exhausted, and never mind that this entire situation was of Arthur's own making. Merlin could not simply ignore the pulse of fondness in his chest.

He sat beside Arthur, instead of on the other bunk across from him. Close enough that their shoulders bumped and their knees nearly touched. He mirrored Arthur's posture and kept his gaze turned straight ahead, even as Arthur turned to gawp at Merlin. 

Arthur's surprise was obvious even in Merlin's peripheral vision.

Merlin measured his words carefully when he finally spoke. "A staged kidnapping, ransom demands… You must have realized this idea wouldn't make for good publicity."

Arthur remained sullenly silent.

"You haven't endeared your cause to more moderate politicians. And I guarantee you've only driven Uther further on his crusade."

"Don't you think we considered those risks?" Arthur snapped, sitting straighter. For all his agitation, he did not sound angry. Frustrated, anxious, maybe even scared. But not angry. Certainly not at Merlin. And there was steel in his voice when he continued, "We had no choice. Diplomacy will not work. Measured responses _will not work_. Certainly not in the timeframe we're facing."

"Arthur—"

"I know," Arthur interrupted. "I know this isn't ideal. But the Sentinel Program is on the verge of deployment. We need action, and we need it now, or a whole lot of people are going to get hurt."

"There must have been some other way."

"Like what?"

Merlin shifted, turned to look Arthur in the eye. He found an unfamiliar expression there. Fatigued and… almost helpless. Uncertain. It was the look of a man who did not want to admit he'd taken a wrong turn.

"You could have taken a public stand against your father. You're popular. People know who you are, they listen to you. With his own son undermining his position—"

"It _would not have worked_ ," Arthur hissed, pushing up from the bunk without warning. He stood with his back to Merlin, spine rigid, face hidden.

"How can you know that?" Merlin followed Arthur to his feet. "You didn't even try!"

He was braced for more. For a prolonged fight. In all his years working for Arthur, Merlin had never been shy about disagreeing with his employer. He'd never been one to back down when he knew he was _right_ , which meant he knew exactly how this would play out. The lengthy argument, the raised voices, the stubbornness and glowering quiet in between.

Instead, Arthur's shoulders drooped, and he said far too softly, "You're right."

Merlin gawped at the back of Arthur's head, certain he'd misheard. Silent, because none of the arguments on the tip of his tongue were relevant in the face of this unexpected agreement. The words caught him completely off guard, and he had no doubt that his silence conveyed his shock.

Arthur did not turn around. "You're right," he repeated. "I didn't even try. The truth is, I'm terrified of my father. I'm a coward. But since Gwen doesn't know any mutants capable of time travel, there's nothing I can do to fix it now."

"There's still time."

"Time for _what_ , Merlin?" Now, at last, Arthur spun on his heel and stared at Merlin. The exasperation in his face was better than the hopelessness of his words. They were standing too close together again, no space at all for propriety, but for once Arthur seemed not to notice. "This plan is already in motion. I'm just the bargaining chip. I can't change course for an entire city of mutants who are just trying to survive."

Which… was a solid point, more or less. Much as Merlin wanted to insist there was something— _anything_ —to be done, he had no practical suggestions to carry them forward. The ransom note had already been delivered. Uther had law enforcement and private investigators searching for any hint of where his son might have been taken. 

Uther hadn't been inclined toward sense and reason before; he certainly would not listen if Arthur tried to reach him now.

Arthur was right. For all that his initial plan had been irredeemably foolish, they were here now. This was the reality they needed to deal with.

Merlin fell silent, conceding the point.

Arthur quieted too. Merlin could practically see his hackles smoothing, his defensiveness easing. The fight ebbed away, leaving a different thrum of energy in the air.

"I'm glad you're safe," Merlin said. Sincerity tightened his throat, made the words difficult to speak, but he did not try to keep them in.

"Merlin…" Arthur looked distinctly wary, questions flashing in his eyes.

"I knew I needed to find you. But until Morgana came to me, I didn't even know where to start. You could've been hurt—or dead—and there was nothing I could do." His voice rose with every word. With feeling and frantic energy as he remembered those fearful hours after Arthur and Lancelot's disappearance. Merlin had never felt so helpless as he'd felt in those moments.

"I was perfectly safe," Arthur protested, and Merlin wondered if he was deliberately missing the point.

"I didn't _know that_." The words were nearly a shout. "All I knew was you were missing. And even if Uther had agreed to dismantle the Sentinel program, that was no guarantee you'd come home in one piece. Not all ransom threats end with releasing the victim unharmed."

"Merlin, I _couldn't_ tell you. I'm sorry. If you'd known what I intended—"

"What? Were you scared I might talk you out of it?" Merlin interrupted, more fiercely than necessary. "You could've been hurt. You could've— If anything like that happened to you, I don't know what I might—"

Merlin stopped. Closed his eyes. Forced himself to breathe through the clog of feelings in his chest.

Arthur waited, patient for once. Wordless even when Merlin opened his eyes.

It was with measured difficulty that Merlin kept from shouting when he concluded, "Never do that to me again."

Perfect stillness held between. Seconds that stretched endless. Merlin tried to ignore the flood of warmth beneath his skin, the heat rising to his face. He should step back. Away. He could not bring himself to do it.

It was Arthur who finally moved. Motionless one moment, reaching for Merlin the next. Framing his face between strong hands. Closing the distance between them.

Kissing him.

Oh. Fuck. Arthur was _kissing him_.

Merlin breathed a startled sound and reached for Arthur in return. He twisted his fingers in the back of Arthur's t-shirt, pressed closer without remorse or shame. Arthur's mouth was soft, tentative, a question without words.

Before Merlin could figure out how to answer that question, Arthur jerked back. Dropping his hands, jolting free of Merlin's arms, retreating three full steps. He probably would have fled farther, but his back hit the wall and he stood there. Staring at Merlin with wide eyes, caught-out and guilty and disbelieving.

"Arthur—"

"I'm sorry," Arthur breathed, not giving him the chance to speak. Already Arthur was moving, rushing past Merlin in the narrow aisle—hurrying so fast he nearly knocked Merlin over—raising a hand to the control panel beside the door.

Before Merlin could protest, Arthur was gone. Vanished into the hall, disappearing almost immediately from sight.


	7. Chapter 7

It took several stunned minutes for Merlin's brain to reset. Hell, it could have been longer, for all the notice he took of his own surroundings after Arthur's abrupt departure.

His head was an avalanche of reactions. Confusion, desperation, disbelief, disappointment.

Want.

For an instant he had possessed the impossible—all the fantasies he'd been guarding so damn long. For an instant he had known beyond any doubt that _Arthur wanted him_.

And then Arthur had run. And Merlin's world had ground to a startled halt. And for several agonizing moments he hadn't known anything at all.

Confusion only mounted as his rational thoughts realigned, but alongside rose a bright surge of something even less familiar. Merlin's chest suddenly ached with the unexpected swell of _hope_. The twine of long-buried feelings spread beneath his skin, bright and open and almost too much.

His stillness finally shattered, and Merlin burst into restless motion. He couldn't simply storm into the hall and announce that this conversation wasn't over. Arthur had far too great a head start—he was sure to be long gone by now—a fact confirmed when Merlin stepped through the door and into near silence, broken only by the occasional stranger striding purposefully past.

Merlin didn't care where any of them were going. He didn't care about _anything_ in this moment beyond finding Arthur.

But as to that, Merlin wasn't sure where to start. Would Arthur return to his own quarters to panic and sulk? Would he seek out Lancelot? Would he find some task elsewhere in this massive compound and bury himself in work, to avoid acknowledging the line he had just crossed?

Merlin honestly didn't know which was the most likely in this moment.

He needed to start simple. He had no idea where Lancelot was. He didn't know what task Arthur might attempt if he wanted to be difficult to find. But his quarters were surely a consistent location, and Merlin could begin there.

"Excuse me." He put himself directly in the path of a passerby, halting her momentum and offering an apologetic smile. "Can you help me? I'm looking for Arthur Pendragon's quarters."

She blinked at him with dark eyes set close on a narrow face. "Don't you have access to the map system?"

He gave a small shrug. "I'm new around here. Still learning how everything works."

The woman's thick eyebrows rose, but she didn't call bullshit or demand he show security clearance. It seemed impossible that a place like this could afford to be so lax about security. Merlin could only assume there were subtler mechanisms at play. In any case, he didn't much care about them, so long as he was able to track Arthur down.

"Here." The woman touched his arm and directed him to one of the wall panels Arthur had pointed out only yesterday. She directed him to tap the bottom right corner of the screen, a spot indistinguishable from the rest, but the touch pulled up a complicated directory.

Merlin was confident he could decipher all that information given time, but he was too impatient to slog through it now. Thankfully, before he could ask further questions, his guide gave a dismissive wave of one hand.

"You can ignore all this. There's a search function embedded at the top of every directory, with access tailored to your bio-print. Just, there, tap it like you did the activation panel." She guided him through a quick sequence, making him navigate every step himself. With her help, Merlin pulled up Arthur's name and activated a small segment of map. "Sub-level 29G. That's not far from here. Just take the lift at the end of the hall. Unit six will be the second door on the left."

"God, _thank you_ ," Merlin breathed, perhaps more enthusiastically than necessary. Belatedly, he held out his hand in greeting, remembering his manners now that his most urgent business was accomplished. "I'm Merlin."

"Gail." She shook his hand and offered a humoring half smile. "Get out of here. I can tell you're in a hurry."

" _Thank you_ ," he repeated, as he dropped her hand and hurried toward the end of the hall. So what if his impatience showed? He had something damned important waiting for him.

Now that he knew where he was going, Merlin reached Arthur's door with impressive speed. Impatience thrummed like a second pulse in his blood, and his neck and face felt warm. He reached for the panel beside the door and pressed the chime to announce his presence.

No one answered. He pressed the chime again.

Still no one came. Two potential reasons Merlin could see. One, he had the wrong door: unlikely. Two, Arthur was not here: a possibility Merlin had considered even before he left his own quarters, which meant a frustrating delay.

Of course, there was a third possibility. Maybe Arthur _was_ behind this door. Maybe he'd known Merlin would follow him and had decided to play possum, refusing to answer in the hopes that Merlin would simply leave.

Ridiculous, if so. Arthur couldn't put him off indefinitely. Whatever reprisal he feared, there was no point delaying the inevitable. Even if he assumed Merlin was angry, Arthur could only hope to buy a few hours by avoiding him. He knew damn well how stubborn Merlin could be.

Merlin tried the chime one more time, still to no effect.

Fine. Maybe Arthur _wasn't_ inside. But in that case, he wouldn't mind Merlin conniving his way into an empty room. Merlin could think of no way to override the door panel itself—the door didn't open when he tried to activate it with a touch of his hand—but that didn't matter. He had other talents at his disposal.

He reached out with senses somewhere beyond the tangible. Never mind that he didn't know how the mechanism worked; he didn't need to. With nothing but his mind and his stubbornness, he pushed at the door itself, shoving it to the side with unyielding determination.

His efforts met unseen resistance, but Merlin just nudged that pressure aside, easing the way and pushing the door even harder. About halfway open the door's automatic system caught up, and it slid the rest of the way smoothly open. Merlin stepped inside.

The room was not empty.

Arthur stood motionless in the center of a space barely larger than the quarters Merlin and Morgana had been assigned. His weight was distributed strangely—his head turned to stare at Merlin over his shoulder—and it was clear he'd been pacing and stopped abruptly at the unexpected intrusion.

Arthur looked guilty and tense and caught-out. But he did not look surprised.

He _must_ have realized Merlin would come. And he must have known, just as surely, that a lack of answer would not dissuade him under the circumstances.

The door slid shut a moment later, a nearly silent hiss closing out the rest of the world. Merlin could hear his own heartbeat, too loud in his ears, his own breath threatening to speed. He stood still, projecting bright determination. Strange, to feel simultaneously impatient and uncertain. He was precisely where he needed to be, but he had no idea where to go from here.

He had no idea how to make Arthur _listen_.

"Is there a way to lock this door?" he asked into the lengthening silence.

"I'm not sure that's—"

"Arthur." Merlin allowed every ounce of exasperation to sound in his voice. Arthur had started this. If he wanted to reroute, he would need to do better than wordless retreats and cagey evasions. "Refusing to talk to me _won't_ put me off forever. At most you'll buy yourself a little extra time to panic for no reason. I'm not going anywhere, so we might as well do this now."

Arthur glared at him—an expression so petulant and familiar that Merlin's heart gave a lurch at the sight—but ultimately he turned to face Merlin directly. Squaring his shoulders, raising his chin, narrowing his eyes. He looked like he was bracing for a brawl rather than a reasoned discussion.

Merlin did not let the intimidating stance dissuade him. Instead he took a step farther into the room. Steady despite the hum of anticipation beneath his skin.

"The door?" Merlin pressed.

Arthur blinked. "Are you sure you want it locked? It might be better if we—"

"For god's sake, Arthur, just lock the damn door. I trust you, and I'd just as soon not be interrupted right now."

A heartbeat of hesitation and then Arthur maneuvered smoothly past him—navigating the narrow room without so much as brushing their shoulders together—and tapped the interior control panel. A cheerful beep sounded, and then Arthur put his back to the door. He still wore that stuck, stubborn expression.

"What do you want to know?" Arthur asked in a voice tight with apprehension.

Merlin considered the question, not deliberately making Arthur wait, but overwhelmed anew. There was too much he needed to say; how was he supposed to find coherent words for the wild hope threatening to burst inside him?

"You kissed me," he said softy, a little nervous Arthur would spook and run away again.

"That's not a _question_ , Merlin," Arthur groused. God, the tone was so familiar.

Merlin instantly felt surer in his footing.

"You kissed me," he repeated more emphatically. He stared into Arthur's eyes with all the stubbornness he could muster.

Arthur's jaw clenched for a moment before he answered, "Yes. I kissed you."

Merlin took another step forward. "Why?" He was nearly close enough to touch now. Close enough to glimpse the twitch at the corner of Arthur's eye, and the way his pupils dilated an instant later.

Arthur drew a slow breath and clenched both hands into white-knuckled fists at his sides. But he didn't look away. If anything he stood straighter, several seconds passing that could only mean he was choosing his words with uncommon care.

"It doesn't matter why," Arthur said at last. "It will not happen again."

Merlin considered the words, delivered with all the solemnity of a vow. He considered _Arthur_. Willful, selfish, proud. But also loyal, and kind, and careful never to make the same mistake twice. If he continued to consider kissing Merlin a mistake, it really _wouldn't_ ever happen again.

Merlin took a final step forward. This time he stopped directly in Arthur's personal space. Deliberate, and impossible to ignore. At this range it required conscious effort _not_ to touch. He would only need to raise his hands.

The surprise on Arthur's face was faint, but it was _there_ , and Merlin wondered what he was thinking. Surely Arthur knew him well enough to realize Merlin would not tease him like this—would never be deliberately cruel—would never make such an overture only to withdraw and leave them both frustrated.

He considered his words carefully and asked, "What if I _want_ you to kiss me again?"

Arthur's surprise was no longer faint. Whether in answer to the blunt choice of words or the underlying question, vivid shock widened his eyes. "You cannot mean that."

" _Or_ ," Merlin said dryly, "instead of arguing with me, you could admit I might know exactly what I'm saying. It wasn't a hypothetical question."

"Merlin…" Arthur's gaze dipped to his mouth before jerking guiltily back to his eyes. So many questions echoed beneath the sound of Merlin's name.

Questions, and something more that could—just maybe—have been a grudging sliver of hope.

"I'm going to ask the question again, and this time I'd prefer a less patronizing answer." Merlin quirked a single eyebrow. "What if I _want_ you to kiss me again?"

Arthur's throat bobbed in a tight swallow, but he didn't answer. The silence was just as telling as an express confirmation would have been. It said a great deal about what Arthur wanted, whether he was ready to admit it or not. Combined with the vibrating tension Merlin could feel more than see, he knew his instincts were sound. He'd been right to follow Arthur here.

"Please," Merlin said, soft and earnest, reaching one hand across the fragment of space still separating them. He let his fingers trail along Arthur's jaw, his thumb rest high on Arthur's cheek.

He did not get the chance to finish voicing the quiet plea. Arthur moved too suddenly, grabbing Merlin hard by the arms, reversing their positions so sharply Merlin's senses spun.

His back met the door hard. Not painful, but startling in its solidity. Arthur's fingers gripped his biceps tightly enough to hurt. Merlin's own hands had twisted in Arthur's shirt during his moment off balance. Now, stationary and bolstered by the sturdy cool of metal along his back, he could not figure out how to let go.

"I am your _employer_ ," Arthur snarled with uncharacteristic desperation. "Even if I want— God, even if we _both_ want… It would still be wrong." But he was still touchingMerlin as he spoke this fractured denial. Still holding him pinned to the door, still crowded into his space as though—protest or not—perhaps they were hurtling toward a foregone conclusion.

"Not sure if you've noticed this," Merlin murmured, easing his grip from the fabric of Arthur's shirt and laying both hands flat over his chest. He could feel Arthur's heart beating too fast, the rise and fall of breath under his palms. "But I've never had much talent for following rules."

Arthur breathed an almost noiseless laugh and the corner of his mouth gave a reluctant twitch. He shook his head, clearly torn between vexation and fondness.

The hint of humor vanished quickly. " _Yours_ is not the behavior I'm concerned with, Merlin."

"Yeah," Merlin conceded softly. "I know."

"You understand, don't you?" Arthur pressed, as somber as Merlin had ever seen him. "You understand why this can't happen. Why I can't do this."

Merlin wanted to answer _no_. He wanted to argue that it didn't matter. They both wanted this. Surely they could make it work, damn the rules. But it wasn't just about _rules_. It was about the fact that Arthur was his boss—Arthur had all the power, all the authority—Arthur's daily routine involved telling Merlin what to do and when to do it.

"For the record," Merlin said softly, sliding one hand up to curve along the side of Arthur's face, "you are not exactly my employer right now. We're hiding in a secret mutant bunker in the middle of nowhere, demanding ransom from your father and trying to keep our heads down."

The wry burst of candor earned him another flash of that grudging smile.

"You have no authority over me here," Merlin pressed the advantage.

Arthur's smile faded once more. "And after? When we return to the surface and things go back to normal?"

Merlin considered for a long moment. He very much doubted there was _any_ chance of things returning to normal between them, personally or professionally. But he also understood, with jarring abruptness, that he could not have both. Even if he coaxed Arthur over this line now, things _would_ change when they returned to the city. A balance would not be tenable. Arthur would refuse to touch him again, no matter how desperately they both wanted the same things.

Which left Merlin with a decision to make. Personal or professional, he could only have one.

It was a startlingly easy choice.

"I quit," he said.

Arthur gawped at him, shocked and confusion written across his face. Eyes widened, brows arched high, mouth agape. Arthur's grip on Merlin did not ease; if anything he held on harder. As though grounding himself in the face of the very world upending.

"What did you just say?" Arthur's voice carried higher than usual, breathless with surprise.

"I quit," Merlin repeated. "Effective immediately. If we were in the office I'd write up a formal resignation, but… Well. That'll have to wait until we get out of here."

"You can't just _quit_ ," Arthur protested, though more in a tone of disbelief than refusal.

"I can," Merlin held his ground. "And I just did. Which means you can't tell me what to do." Any hint of sternness in his voice was belied by the fact he was still touching Arthur's face—was still peering into Arthur's eyes with all the unguarded warmth that had brought him here—was still measuring the pace of Arthur's frantic heartbeat beneath his palm.

There was something so quiet—so hesitant with hope—in Arthur's voice when he said, "It can't be that easy."

Merlin offered a reassuring smile, raised his hands from Arthur's chest to frame both sides of Arthur's face. "It _is_ that easy. I'm out. There's nothing you can do to change my mind."

"Merlin…" Arthur said his name softly, but there was still a spark of protest. Lingering, faint, reluctant. Reason was on Merlin's side now, and Arthur obviously wanted to concede defeat, but still something held him back.

It did not take a feat of mental gymnastics to identify the problem. Merlin knew his former employer well; simple enough to read between the lines and realize Arthur was still terrified that he might be taking advantage. After years working together they'd established habits and understandings. Patterns, deeply ingrained and predicated on the fact that Arthur was the one with the money, influence, _power_. Merlin could certainly understand why those perceptions could be difficult to shake even in the face of his resignation.

He needed to make Arthur understand they were more evenly matched—that the disparity between them was not the vast gulf Arthur feared—that Merlin was far from powerless.

"You're going to be stubborn about this," Merlin observed, keeping his tone light and allowing exasperation to creep into his expression. "Fine. Just consider one more argument before you write me off."

Arthur blinked as Merlin dropped both hands to his sides.

Merlin savored the moment of anticipation. Drew a breath steadily into his lungs. Then, holding himself perfectly still, he focused his mind and _shoved_.

Arthur's eyes widened as he stumbled backward, propelled by unexpected force with no tangible cause. The loss of balance did not knock him to the ground; Merlin had no intention of letting Arthur fall. He exerted pressure the other direction simultaneously, steadying Arthur even as he compelled him across the room. Several meters separated them now, but the distance didn't interfere with Merlin's control. If anything, being able to see Arthur clearly made it easier to fine tune every push and nudge.

He saw the twitch of muscle beneath Arthur's shirt sleeves—proof that he was trying to resist—but it wasn't enough. Merlin barely felt any pushback at all; Arthur was helpless before him.

It was an illusion of course. Arthur needed only to protest—tell Merlin to stop—even a quiet noise of disapproval would do it. Merlin had no interest in frightening Arthur. He was no bully; that wasn't the point he wanted to make.

But Arthur _didn't_ protest, and Merlin continued to push until Arthur's knees hit the edge of the bunk. Another nudge, and Arthur toppled back, landing with his ass on the mattress and his feet on the floor. Seated there on the edge of the narrow bed with a look of startled wonder on his face.

Merlin smiled, and he made no effort to mask the self-satisfied tint to the expression as he crossed the little room. Arthur's palms were braced on the mattress, his posture loose. Thoughtlessly inviting. Merlin did not hesitate to accept the invitation; he eased himself down astride Arthur's lap. Twined his arms across broad shoulders. Brought their faces close, though not so close he couldn't look Arthur in the eye.

"Do you know…" Arthur's weight shifted forward—upright—and his hands moved to Merlin's hips. "In all the years you've been working for me, I don't think I've ever seen you look this _smug_."

Merlin's grin spread so wide his teeth flashed. "You should probably get used to it. I don't have to pretend you're right about stuff anymore."

Arthur laughed—bright and short—his expression spliced evenly between delight and disbelief. "Merlin, when have you _ever_ kept your opinions to yourself?"

"Never," Merlin conceded. "But I"m always right. And I'm right about this too."

Rather than agree with words, Arthur curled one hand at the nape of Merlin's neck and tugged him into a kiss.

It was better than the first. For one thing, Merlin knew it was coming, and the seconds of anticipation—the instant before their eyes slipped shut and their lips met—were enough to set his face warm and his heart alight.

For another, he did not have to worry it would end abruptly with Arthur panicking and running away. He could enjoy every touch, every sensation as Arthur's tongue teased at the seam of his lips and then slipped past them, a hungry exploration that left Merlin desperate for more.

His own body was all eagerness—greedy for touch—but he hadn't considered what might come next. His own arousal was more an afterthought than a matter of conscious notice. But it still should not have surprised him to feel an answering stiffness nudge beneath him.

He _was_ surprised, though. Caught off guard, but quick enough in catching up. Perhaps he _hadn't_ considered where to go from here, but he was considering it now, and he very much liked the possibilities.

Merlin broke from the kiss with with reluctance, speaking quickly because he knew just how fast Arthur would jump to faulty guilt-ridden conclusions.

" _Arthur_." He ducked his head, nosed beneath the strong line of Arthur's jaw. "What are the chances we could both be more naked right now?"

The only answer he received was a groan, and a flurry of Arthur's hands tugging at Merlin's shirt. Merlin returned the favor, giddy at the proof Arthur craved this too. His particular abilities were not much help as they both fumbled, getting in each other's way, but ultimately tossing both shirts aside. There was still too much clothing between them, but _oh_ this was better. Merlin had seen Arthur shirtless any number of times, but it had never before been like this. That muscular chest—powerful shoulders—stocky torso, all on display just for him.

He must have allowed himself to stare too long, distracted by the sight before him, because when Arthur broke the silence it was in a distinctly uncertain voice.

"Are you all right, Merlin?" So much care in that question. And worry that had no place here. "If you don't want—"

"Stop talking," Merlin ordered, deliberately interrupting the foolishness. "Believe me, I want."

Then, because bluntness and abrupt action had gotten him this far, Merlin slid his weight backwards—all the way off of Arthur's lap—and dropped smoothly to his knees beside the bunk.

Arthur's eyes followed him, hands letting go as Merlin slipped out of range. He looked startled all over again, and Merlin could not resist the softer smile that stole across his face at the sight.

He could not imagine ever tiring of this—of the heated surprise on Arthur's face—of being able to elicit such a reaction. Another moment and Merlin gave a mental nudge, just enough power to force Arthur's knees apart, and scooted into the space between.

" _Oh_ , Arthur breathed, staring down at him.

"Is this okay?" Merlin asked. It was all well and good to read the heat in Arthur's eyes, but Merlin needed to confirm he was not crossing unwelcome lines. He needed to be sure his flashy show of power was welcome—or at least that he wasn't making Arthur uncomfortable.

"God yes," Arthur answered without hesitation. And whether he meant the demonstration of power or Merlin's current position, approval glimmered in every word. "For the love of god, do whatever you like. Please don't stop."

Merlin resisted the urge to laugh at Arthur's outburst. The show of candor was delightful, but Arthur's pride was a prickly thing. Too great a chance he would assume Merlin was laughing at his expense. Not a risk worth taking—not when this was all so new and tenuous between them.

But now he knew categorically that they were on the same page. There was no point holding himself back a single unnecessary moment. He moved with steady confidence as he popped the button of Arthur's trousers and tugged at the zipper, smirking up into Arthur's gorgeous, urgent face.

"Is this all right too?" Merlin asked, tone all false innocence.

Arthur's head tipped back and his eyes fell closed—just for a moment—and he groaned. "My god, you're a menace. You'll be the absolute death of me."

Merlin held perfectly still until he had Arthur's full attention once more. It took several seconds, and when dark eyes settled on Merlin's face, they were eloquent with need.

Merlin licked his lips, deliberately taunting. "Was that a yes?"

"Of course it was a _yes_ ," Arthur growled, strangely charming in his helplessness.

A wicked grin spread wide across Merlin's face. "Okay."


	8. Chapter 8

Reality did not unravel in the immediate moments after.

Any fears Merlin might have harbored of Arthur changing his mind proved unfounded. Even better, Arthur was all gentle attentiveness, admonishing him to stay put and, "Let me do this, Merlin." Fetching a washcloth and wetting it under a warm faucet—the sink folded directly out of the wall—and cleaning them both up so that they could shed the rest of their clothing and slide together beneath thin covers.

Arthur's bunk made for a tight fit, but Merlin didn't mind. All the more justification to press close and enjoy the strong expanse of Arthur's chest.

This was still ridiculous, and Merlin made no effort to quell the hint of laughter when he said, "You realize it's the middle of the day, right?"

"We're thirty stories below ground. We might as well be on the moon for all the difference a clock makes down here." After a pointed pause Arthur added, "Besides. Orgasms make me sleepy."

"Orgasms?" Merlin pressed. "Or just the perpetual insomnia?" 

Arthur had never been one to fall easily asleep—Merlin knew how heavily his countless responsibilities weighed on him—and the fatigue following a sleepless night was far too common. Merlin wondered how well Arthur slept in this place.

"I think you misunderstand the basic premise of insomnia." Arthur held a thin veneer of solemnity over unapologetic cheek. But even now the words were a little bleary around the edges, softened as though Arthur really was beginning to drift off.

"You're a complete prat," Merlin retorted, but he couldn't keep the affection from his voice. He nuzzled beneath Arthur's jaw and press a kiss to the calming pulse beneath warm skin.

"Mmm," Arthur hummed agreeably. Then, so soft Merlin barely heard him, "I love you too."

" _Oh_ ," Merlin breathed, low and involuntary. His chest flooded with brightness and warmth, and his lungs stuttered in his chest. _Me too, I love you too_ , echoed on repeat in his mind but the words were too much. He couldn't find his voice to say them aloud, despite how desperately he ached to speak.

Fuck, he needed to _say it_. If he didn't Arthur might worry, might reach the wrong conclusion and assume Merlin didn't feel the same.

But instead of tensing—instead of giving any sign of concern—Arthur's arm around Merlin's waist loosened to drape carelessly over his hip. The rise and fall of Arthur's chest steadied and slowed.

"Arthur?" Merlin murmured.

Arthur did not answer, already soundly asleep.

Merlin wasn't tired.

Perhaps he should've been—he hadn't rested much last night—but he was energized instead. His body sated but his mind whirling with contingencies. Arthur's proximity made him giddy. Merlin couldn't picture what the coming days would look like. Time they would spend hidden away in this improbable bunker, and then… what? Assuming Uther acceded to the ransom demands, and Arthur returned to his normal life, where did Merlin fall? He had no intention of asking for his job back, but this was still a complicated road to navigate.

He set the difficult questions aside for now. Wide awake or not, he had more pleasant things to focus on. He had Arthur. Impossible and close and _his_. And for the moment that was all Merlin needed.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

Merlin found the days that followed an impossible contradiction. There was the endless frustration of waiting, of watching every possible news outlet for signs that Uther had followed instructions to ensure his son's safe return. An unrelenting eternity wondering if—just maybe—Arthur's godawful plan could work.

But there was also something fleeting, a looming sense that this balance could not last. They were protected from the world here. Isolated in this strange, compact little city. Merlin had never experienced anything like it. Being surrounded by people who knew his secret and _did not care_.

And of course, there was this new and overwhelming _something_ between himself and Arthur. They were almost never apart as the days stretched and contracted around them. Merlin slept in Arthur's bed at night; more than once he said the words himself. _I love you_. Arthur repeated them even when he was wide awake. It felt so perfect and strange and _simple_ —to hear the words, and to say them, and to know they were true.

Lancelot came and went during what passed for daytime—he was courting Gwen in earnest as far as Merlin could tell—vanishing for large swathes of time, despite the fact that even here he was ostensibly Arthur's bodyguard.

Morgana was frequently out of reach. She wore a fierce new focus about her like a cloak, disappearing at every opportunity for the training halls and practice ranges. Determined to learn control of her abilities in a staggeringly short span of time.

When Merlin asked if she wanted company, Morgana turned him down, gentle but emphatic. "I'm not ready yet," she insisted, and Merlin didn't press. He remembered all too clearly his own steep learning curve, his own stubbornness, his own fear of hurting someone while he learned to control unpredictable abilities. Morgana was lucky to be _here_ , even if it was only temporary. To have resources, a community, a fellowship of other mutants to share their experience and safeguards as she navigated potentially dangerous waters.

He and Arthur both kept busy. There was plenty to be done, much of it heavy, tiring work. Expanding the facilities to make room for an ever-growing population of mutants on the run from the world above. 

The work was hard. It was _good_. It left Merlin tired but satisfied every time he retired with Arthur back to the privacy of their quarters—not just worn out by the physical effort, but by the judicious use of his more distinct abilities. Telekinesis was a handy tool when it came to construction, digging, any kind of labor really. Merlin had solid control of his abilities, but this was the first time in his life he'd ever used them so _constantly_.

It was a good feeling, but different than the accomplished aching of his physical limbs.

"Do you think my father will agree to dismantle the Sentinel Program?" Arthur asked on their fifth night in Gwen's hidden city. Alone, tucked together on Arthur's narrow cot, quiet in the moments before sleep. They both wore loose sleep clothes against the perpetual chill of the underground facility. The soft fabric was thin, and Merlin allowed himself to enjoy the steady inferno of Arthur's body heat while he considered a careful answer.

"I don't know," he admitted at last. "I want your plan to work. I want him to do the smart thing and cooperate, but…"

"But it's been almost the full week," Arthur murmured quietly. Dejectedly. "He should have made _some_ start by now. He should at least have made an announcement that the program is being reconsidered, even if he's trying to save face. I've got enough sources of intel, I would _know_ if he'd begun the process discreetly."

The implication being that, in the absence of such an update, the only explanation was that Uther had done _nothing_.

The idea that Uther could be so careless with Arthur's life flooded Merlin's chest with directionless fury. Never mind that Arthur was in no true danger; Uther _did not know that_. What was he playing at, that this delay—this gamble on his son's wellbeing—seemed a reasonable risk?

Merlin had witnessed Uther the night Arthur disappeared. There was no denying what he had seen. The fear and anger and ultimate crumbling, of a man who had constructed a business empire on the illusion of having no vulnerability.

Perhaps all that was not enough. The idea sat like lead in Merlin's gut; he could only imagine how it felt from where Arthur was sitting.

"I'm sorry." Merlin wrapped an arm around Arthur's waist and held on more tightly. He didn't have words that would make Uther less terrible, as a father _or_ as a political figure. He didn't make a habit of lying to Arthur, except by omission, and even that he did not need to do anymore. He was not going to lie about this.

He startled when Arthur kissed him, but melted readily to the commanding press of Arthur's mouth. This was no prelude to sex—they'd already been down that road tonight—but a more desperate plea. A quieter intimacy that Merlin not only allowed but welcomed, clinging to the strong body in his arms, as he opened for the exploring nudge of Arthur's tongue.

They startled apart at the melodic chime of the door. Arthur glared past Merlin's shoulder as though personally offended at the interruption. It _was_ unusual. Plenty of people came and went during the day, but the hour was late, well past midnight. The corridors were quiet as the denizens of the little city disappeared into their private bunks for the night. For someone to come calling at this hour was strange at best, worrying at worst, and Merlin wriggled out of Arthur's arms to answer the door.

Arthur let him go and grudgingly sat up a moment later, eyes tracking Merlin across the room.

Merlin ignored the irritable expression on Arthur's face. They could disregard the chime and pray it wouldn't repeat, but that seemed an unlikely outcome. If someone had come at this hour, it must be important. The chime sounded again as he reached the door, and Merlin touched the control panel.

The door slid aside. Gwen stood in the corridor alone. She wore unusually casual clothing herself, almost certainly sleepwear judging by the soft-worn fabric and loose fit. Merlin blinked at her in surprise, a curl of dread settling low in his gut—not just at the fact that she had clearly been interrupted from sleep, but from the grim twist of her mouth and deep furrow at the center of her brow.

"Can I come in?"

"Of course." Merlin stepped aside and gestured her through the door. Behind him Arthur was already rising, and when the door slid shut all three of them stood regarding each other. Silence and anticipation.

"What's happened?" Arthur asked.

"I just got word from an ally in Poland, urgent intel. There's a clairvoyant among her group who saw something."

" _What_ did they see?" Arthur pressed more sharply.

Gwen peered up into Arthur's face, her expression tight with information Merlin could not read. He wondered if knowing her better would make it easier, or if she was accustomed to keeping herself as much of a cipher as possible. Easier to lead effectively when no one could tell if you were afraid. Even now Merlin couldn't be certain fear was among the things she was feeling, and he bit his lower lip to keep from interrupting.

At last she answered without taking her eyes off Arthur. "It's your father. He's managed to track our location."

"What?" Merlin blurted. " _How_?" There were a lot of people in Gwen's care, a lot of potential for traitors, but Merlin couldn't credit the possibility. His time in this bunker had very quickly shown him that Gwen's faith in her people was not misplaced.

Gwen glanced to Merlin and said, "He's conscripted mutants the government already had on file. Individuals with information-gathering abilities. I don't know how he coerced their cooperation, but it doesn't really matter. He knows where we are."

Arthur breathed a sound so hurt it strained the air. "That fucking hypocrite."

"Okay." Merlin's brain was already hurtling forward. "So he's found us. Do we know what he intends to do?"

"He's hired a private army." Gwen sounded bleak, guarded, hoarse. "They're en route as we speak. Our best estimate is seven hours."

"Then what?" Merlin asked helplessly.

Gwen's expression turned stony. "Then we fight."

"You can't," Arthur protested. "Gwen, you've barely got the resources to feed everyone you've taken in. Your people aren't equipped for this."

Gwen's attention locked hard on Arthur. "What choice do we have? He _knows where we are_. I've started an evacuation, but if he's found us once he can do it again."

Silence held for a beat too long, and then Arthur's eyes went wide. "You mean to kill him, don't you?"

"I mean to sabotage his ability to keep coming for us. I mean to destroy what I can of his mercenary force, with as little loss as possible on our side." She paused, but there was no hint of apology in her voice when she concluded, "And yes. If necessary I intend to kill him."

Merlin wondered what Arthur would say. Wondered if Arthur would protest. 

But Arthur only stood straighter and met her eyes, and after a moment gave a silent nod. Less a gesture of agreement than an acknowledgment. A wordless promise that whatever Gwen needed to do, Arthur would not interfere.

Merlin stared between them and prayed they were not compounding Arthur's mistakes.

\- — - — - — - — - — -

Obviously there was no chance of sleep after that. It was all Merlin could do to convince Arthur to stay put instead of storming into the corridor behind Gwen.

"Merlin, there is _no time_ ," Arthur tried to argue when Merlin put himself directly in the way of the door.

"Wrong," Merlin retorted a little too sharply. "There are _several hours_ , and nothing we can do besides get in the way."

"I need to help Gwen prepare. Evacuations take time and planning, and if they're going to fight—"

"If they're going to fight, the best thing we can do is wait until someone comes looking for us. Same for the evacuation. When they've got something we can do, they'll tell us. Gwen's a competent leader. She doesn't need you breathing down her neck while she organizes her resources."

Arthur fell quiet. A hint of petulance flashed in his eyes, but he clenched his jaw and did not speak. The silence was all the concession Merlin needed. Arthur clearly didn't like it, but wasn't going to keep arguing a futile point. 

Merlin was right, and they both knew it.

Another chime at the door startled them, and this time Arthur was the one to stride across the room and answer. Any suggestion of hope that they were being summoned vanished in an instant when Morgana swept into the room. Unlike Arthur or Merlin, she was dressed, albeit in jeans and a sweatshirt far too large for her frame. Her hair was tied back in a messy bun and there were ashen circles under her eyes, the deep shadows of fatigue. She looked like hell warmed over.

"Are you all right?" Arthur asked before Merlin managed to speak.

Morgana gave him a sad smile. "I'll be fine. I just needed to see you before everything gets crazy."

Arthur sounded distinctly startled when he said, "Gwen already told you what's going on?"

That didn't make sense. Gwen wouldn't have gone to Morgana before Arthur—not when it was Arthur's plan that started this train of dominoes falling—and sure as hell not when Arthur was the one she knew, trusted, worked with. Even before the staged kidnapping she and Arthur must have been close, or Gwen never would have agreed to Arthur's proposal in the first place.

Understanding clicked into place and Merlin stared at Morgana. "You had a vision."

Morgana's attention shifted to him with a tight nod. "I was already on Gwen's doorstep when she received the intel. She let me stay and listen." Morgana hesitated, glancing between them. "It's going to be bad. _Really_ bad."

"What did you see?" Arthur set a steadying hand on Morgana's arm, met her eyes with unmasked concern.

"Fragments," she admitted helplessly. "Nothing _useful_. Nothing that might help us strategize. I tried. I told her everything I could, but… Everything's a jumble."

"It's all right," Merlin said.

"It's really not. What's the point of _seeing the future_ if I can't use the information to help?" Morgana glared with the question, though the anger clearly wasn't aimed at Merlin. A heartbeat later it faded entirely, replaced by something different. A more complicated look that she turned on Arthur, raw and heavy and uncertain. "But that's not why I'm here."

"Do you want to sit?" Arthur asked softly.

Morgana's posture straightened, and she shook her head. New determination flashed in her eyes. "No. Thank you. I'm not staying long, I just… needed to tell you. I won't be evacuating. I'm staying to fight. And whatever happens tomorrow, I'm not going home."

She peered into Arthur's face as though uncertain how these admissions would land. Her posture was taut, her back straight, and there was defiance flashing in her eyes. 

The silence held, and Merlin did not move. This moment had nothing to do with him.

After several seconds, _Arthur_ moved. He didn't speak, just wrapped Morgana in a tight hug, crushing her close and ducking to bury his face against her shoulder. Closely as he was watching, Merlin could see the tension melt from Morgana's stance, relief breaking like a wave, and then her arms wrapped tight around her brother and held on. They stood like that for a long time, wordless until finally Arthur opened his mouth.

"I won't tell our father. I'll say I never saw you. That I don't know where you are."

Morgana laughed and unwound her grip, backed away to swat Arthur in the arm. "That's very sweet, but don't bother lying for me. I never intend to see him again. I don't care if he knows."

Merlin didn't point out that the question was probably moot. God only knew how thorough Uther's intel was; surely he already knew Morgana was here. Surely if he didn't already know what she could do, it was only a matter of time.

Better if she genuinely _didn't_ care. She would be safest far out of Uther's reach. So would Merlin from now on. He had yet to think that far ahead; it was still too much, and he had to survive the next twelve hours first. He wasn't sure how to tell Arthur that _he_ intended to stay and fight, a decision he'd reached within the past five minutes. Not because it was his job to clean up Arthur's mess—it damn well wasn't—but because Merlin knew in his heart he could never walk away. Not when his own talents could help turn a dangerous tide. Not when his fellow mutants were in danger and there just might be something he could do about it.

Arthur probably suspected anyway. He knew Merlin better than anyone.

A different sort of silence permeated the air after Morgana left. Arthur paced across the room, paced back, stopped beside the bunk. When he sat on the edge of the narrow mattress there was a hunch to his shoulders and a deep crease between his eyebrows. A distracted look, all the more evident for the distance in his eyes, the obvious inward drift of his focus.

Merlin remained standing, giving him a moment to come back from… wherever the hell his thoughts had gone.

When Arthur still had not broken out of his thoughts a full minute later, Merlin sat beside him. He slouched forward, letting their shoulders brush. Turned his head to watch Arthur's profile for any hint at what he might be thinking.

"Arthur?" he asked.

It still took several seconds for Arthur to speak, staring straight ahead at the empty opposite wall. "I can't let my father hurt these people."

Merlin blinked at him. "I don't see how you've got any say in the matter."

"I won't let them fight."

"Arthur." Merlin tried not to sound exasperated, and mostly did not succeed. "Gwen is _going to fight_. You can't talk her out of it." He hadn't gotten to know Gwen as well as he would've liked, but he knew enough to recognize she didn't back down from decisions lightly. This decision especially… It was dangerous, but her reasoning was sound.

Arthur shook his head. "If I'm quicker, if I can reach the surface first and surrender myself… Tell my father what I've done—"

"You can't honestly think that will work," Merlin protested.

"It has to work." Grim steel sharpened Arthur's words. He sounded certain and stern. Keen as the edge of a freshly honed sword. "I'm his son. If I show him I'm safe, if he sees it was _all me_ , how can he continue this ridiculous attack? I'll tell him I worked alone. I'll… apologize. Convince him to call this off."

Merlin wanted to believe it could be so straightforward. He wanted Arthur to be right about Uther; wanted sound judgment and reason to carry the day.

"I want you gone by morning," Arthur added softly. "Join the evacuation. Get the hell out of here."

"No." Merlin said bluntly. A simple fact. What Arthur was asking for _would not_ happen. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

"For god's sake, Merlin." Arthur turned his head to lock him in a disapproving glare. "You can't return with me to my father's estate. You're a _mutant_. You spent how many years in my employ, _directly in danger_ at the heart of Pendragon corporate interests? And I had no idea. I can't ask you to step right back into the lion's den now that I know the truth."

"You're not asking me any such thing," Merlin pointed out, keeping his tone even and reasonable. "And I don't work for you anymore. I make my own decisions. If I choose to be at your side up there, good luck getting rid of me."

"You stubborn, impossible, aggravating—"

"Yes," Merlin interrupted. He shifted his weight and slid toward Arthur, moved to straddle his lap. "I am all those things. Are you really going to waste time arguing a point you can't win, when we've got a couple hours at most before this mess reaches our doorstep?"

"No," Arthur growled, and dragged Merlin into a kiss.


	9. Chapter 9

If Merlin still harbored any doubts about how far Gwen trusted Arthur, they vanished in the course of leaving of the base. The two men faced no difficulty at all navigating past heavy doors, security checkpoints, complicated locking mechanisms. At every potential roadblock Merlin was prepared to use his particular skills to help sneak them out—quickly, quietly, and far ahead of Gwen's assembled defense force—but his talents proved unnecessary. Arthur clearly had full run of the place, no restrictions whatsoever.

They reached the surface alone.

And then they waited. Not directly above the hidden city, but a solid distance away on foot. Merlin didn't ask how Arthur knew from which direction the attack would be coming. It didn't seem particularly relevant. Maybe Gwen had told him. Maybe he'd wormed the information out of Morgana in their scant hours of waiting and preparation.

Merlin didn't really care _how_ Arthur knew. What mattered was the fact that Arthur seemed to be moving with purpose, confident where they needed to be, trusting that Merlin would remain at his side.

They stood now, side-by-side, in a patch of scrubby wilderness. Well beyond sight of the crumbling factory ruin. Merlin braced himself against the waiting. Wordless, determined not to be a distraction. His entire body felt shaky—not just with fear but with energy—riled anticipation. He knew so little about what was coming at them. He knew only that it would be bad.

The sound overcame the silence so gradually that he didn't even consciously register it until Arthur's hand touched his arm.

"Do you hear that?" Arthur asked softly.

"Yes." It was the sound of countless simultaneous footsteps, and the low rumble of vehicles. Noises that could have been mounting at the periphery of Merlin's awareness for several minutes, too distant to trip his notice. They were indistinct but growing louder by the second, immanent and unmistakable.

Merlin was honestly impressed that the first face he saw emerging through the patchy tree line was Uther Pendragon. Uther was not moving on foot—of course he wasn't—but standing upright in a sturdy vehicle. It was a military-looking thing: enormous tires, open cab, most of its passengers carrying enormous firearms. Uther leaned on the metal bar that ran across the top of the open cab, his posture aggressive as he scanned the terrain and caught sight of Merlin and Arthur directly ahead.

Several similar vehicles flanked the one carrying Uther, all of them driven by stern-faced soldiers dressed in grim shades of brown and gray. It wasn't a uniform, nothing so exacting or standard, but somehow the clothing looked indistinguishable anyway. An imperfect conformity not just among the drivers, but also the staggering number of people marching on foot as they emerged from behind the trees. Gaunt faces wore ugly scowls, and every set of hands held a vicious-looking automatic weapon.

Merlin didn't like the look of those weapons.

He'd never tried to stop a bullet, though he thought he might be able to. But an entire brigade's worth of bullets? No way in hell. He prayed Arthur could reason with his father, and Gwen wouldn't need to lead her people into hopeless battle, and Merlin wouldn't have to try anything desperate.

There was, at the very least, a tiny silver lining in that Uther had brought an army of _people_. If the Sentinel Program had been a little nearer completion, surely he would have brought a far more dangerous and unstoppable army.

Merlin had never killed anyone. He didn't particularly _want_ to kill anyone. But at least living, breathing human beings _could_ be killed. Merlin had glimpsed schematics of the evolving sentinel designs. In a pitched battle against such monstrous technology, there would be no hope of victory whatsoever.

Better like this, awful as the odds already were. Better a fighting chance if Arthur couldn't convince Uther to stop.

Uther did not hesitate; when the convoy got close, he stopped the entire forward march with an angry gesture. Another moment and he hoisted himself deftly over the side of the vehicle without bothering to open the door, landing with a heavy-booted thud on the dusty ground. He strode forward, leaving most of his entourage several yards behind him.

Two men more familiar than the rest were the only ones to follow. Uther's dedicated, full-time bodyguards, though Merlin was not accustomed to seeing them both at once.

When Uther halted a handful of paces directly in front of Arthur, the two guards stood flanking him a step behind. They were both burly and intimidating, even more so in clothing that resembled army fatigues instead of the disarming business suits they usually wore. They weren't carrying massive rifles like the rest of Uther's mercenary soldiers, but Merlin knew better than to assume they were unarmed.

A long, painful silence strained the air as Arthur and his father regarded each other. It was not exactly a standoff, but it was guarded. Wary. Uncertainty bled off both men, masked behind stiff postures and clenched jaws, nearly identical airs of defiance. Merlin doubted the underlying glimmer of hesitation would even be visible to someone who didn't know the two men so well, but he could see it plain as day.

Merlin wondered how much Uther knew—how much had his mutant information sources managed to tell him? Just a location? A picture of what he was up against? His son's involvement?

Almost nothing, it turned out, judging by the fact that Uther finally broke the silence to ask, "How did you manage to escape, and what the _devil_ are you still doing here?"

"You can call off your army," Arthur said in a voice that would cow any other audience. "I'm safe. We can leave. There's no need for violence."

"No need for violence?" Uther stared as though Arthur had just spoken indecipherable nonsense. "I can't allow these… These _people_ to go unpunished." He spat the word 'people' like a curse. Like a judgment and a death sentence. Like he would see them all burned at the stake rather than walking free.

Merlin held perfectly still. The audible vitriol would not have surprised him even before. Politics and pragmatism could never quite explain Uther's wrathful pursuit of the Sentinel Program. There was something more personal in it, even at the start. A private bigotry carried with a zeal all Uther's own.

But the venom in his voice now was more, it was _worse_ than Merlin had heard before.

Of course it was worse. Arthur's _idiot plan_. What had he thought would happen? Of course this descent was inevitable—Uther's ugly assumptions could only dig in and worsen on discovering his son had been kidnapped, ransomed, _threatened_ by the very people Uther thought it his right and his duty to control.

All over again Merlin wondered if Gwen—smart, protective, practical, competent _Gwen_ —had ever agreed to Arthur's plan in the first place. It seemed increasingly likely that Arthur had enacted all this nonsense singlehandedly and then turned up on her doorstep. Earnest and proud of himself and so certain he knew how best to help.

With the damage already done, what could Gwen have done _besides_ see the plan through and hope for the best? Any attempt to backtrack or explain would just look like poor execution of a bungled mission. Even in hindsight Merlin could imagine no tenable alternatives.

"There is _no one_ to punish." Arthur faced his father without flinching. "These are good people, and they've done nothing wrong. If you'll tell your forces to stand down and leave, I can explain everything."

Uther's eyes narrowed. Silence held a beat too long—he _still_ had not acknowledged Merlin standing at Arthur's side—and when Uther spoke again it was in a voice of unrelenting thunder.

"This isn't you talking. They're controlling you somehow."

" _What_?" Arthur gawped, surprise loosening the stiffness from his posture. "Father, of course this is me. I'm trying to tell you, if you'll just _listen_ —"

"No." Uther's interruption was unbreakable stone. "I know my own son. He would not protect criminals and monsters."

" _They are not monsters_." Arthur shouted the words, any pretense at calm evaporating.

Uther's gaze cut to the side—to Merlin—and belatedly he asked, "What are you doing here? _How_ are you here?"

The questions caught Merlin off guard, and he didn't answer. Nothing he said could improve their situation, but there were a great deal of ways he might make things worse.

"Father," Arthur interjected, moving not-so-subtly to stand between Uther and Merlin," if you'll just give me a chance to explain—"

" _Commander Hogan_ ," Uther shouted over Arthur's protest.

A burly, thick-shouldered man emerged from one of the other vehicles and strode ahead of the motionless mob of mercenaries. He carried an even bigger gun than the rest, and when he stilled he was standing at rigid attention. Taller even than Uther, who was imposing enough in his own right.

"Commander Hogan," Uther repeated through gritted teeth. "Tell your men to spread out. The enemy coordinates are directly ahead. Break out the drilling equipment if you have to, but get me the justice I am paying you for."

" _No_ ," Arthur protested. "You _cannot do this_. You—"

The protest was cut short again, this time by Uther's bodyguards surging forward at a hand signal from their employer. They grabbed Arthur and dragged him aside, out of Uther's path—out of the path of the advancing army—leaving Merlin to startle and follow as Arthur fought ineffectually and failed to get loose.

Merlin stayed close, but when he tried to drag one of the guards off of Arthur—with his hands rather than his powers—he took an elbow to the head and landed in the dirt at the edge of the tree line.

He didn't lose consciousness, but it was a near thing. Disorientation spun his senses, made the ground pitch alarmingly. He couldn't regain his feet, and the world blurred and distorted as he saw Uther's army march steadily past. Beside Merlin, Arthur struggled against the hands still holding him. Trying—failing—to get free. Arthur shouted refusals Merlin couldn't hear over the marching ranks of mercenaries.

Whatever drilling equipment Uther had commanded his army to use, they did not need it. Between one blink and the next—not even the span of a heartbeat—the ground before the advancing troops was no longer empty.

Gwen stood in front of her people. Their lines were less rigid than the approaching columns, their numbers far less impressive, but they still had the look of a force to be reckoned with. All the more so, knowing them as Merlin did. Not all of Gwen's people were mutants, but most of them were. And if they had joined this team rather than assisting with evacuation and relocation efforts, then they were—to a one—in possession of talents suited for combat.

Gwen herself looked beautifully terrifying. Dressed in black and red, heavy fabric and leather, with her hair braided tightly back from her face, a furious set to her mouth. Merlin realized that after all his days as a guest in her top secret base, he still didn't know what her particular talents were. They might not be combat-conducive at all; Gwen was in charge and these were _her people_. Whether she was equipped to fight or not, of course she had come to lead them.

Lancelot stood just behind and to Gwen's right. Taking a stance that made it perfectly clear he was not interested in hiding his new allegiance. Even without the hint of closeness Merlin had glimpsed between Lancelot and Gwen, he doubted the man would be capable of sitting this fight out. Lancelot had never been one to stand aside and allow harms within his power to prevent. If there was good to be done by fighting, then of course— _of course_ —he would fight.

The marching mercenaries came to an abrupt and unified halt, Commander Hogan at the fore.

Merlin managed to sit up, though his head still spun. Beside him, Arthur had gone grudgingly still, practically vibrating in the restraining grip of Uther's guards.

There was no sign of Uther, and Merlin realized he was not surprised. Heaven forbid the man put his own safety at risk in the name of whatever he sought to prove here.

Gwen held steady beneath the weight of hundreds of stares from all directions. "There's no need for us to fight." Her voice carried easily, authoritatively through the wide clearing. She glared directly at Commander Hogan as she spoke. "If you withdraw now, we'll let you depart unharmed. We have no interest in violence."

It seemed too much to hope for, but Merlin's breath caught anyway. Waiting, praying, _willing_ her words to reach their targets. So many people, so many weapons, so much completely avoidable bloodshed.

It _was_ too much to hope for. A moment later and Commander Hogan raised one open hand into the air, palm flat and fingers pressed together. He kept his hand high over his head for a bare second, then brought it down in a stiff slashing motion.

The signal was the catalyst. It sent the hired army behind him surging forward, shattering the air with a chaos of deafening cries.

Dizzy or not, Merlin scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding as stillness gave way to pitched battle in the span of an instant. Arthur was no longer motionless. He was fighting again, trying to get away from Uther's bodyguards. This time when Merlin came to Arthur's aid—still wobbly and disoriented—he used more than just his limited physical strength. With the extra _push_ of his abilities behind him it was easier to wrench both men away from Arthur. The accompanying confusion was all the opportunity Arthur needed to get hold of the nearest guard's concealed weapon. Merlin copied the effort, got a gun of his own for the trouble.

Merlin hated guns. He had no intention of firing the damn thing. But refused to leave one of Uther's personal bodyguards armed, and he was familiar enough with handguns to check the safety before darting behind the man and clocking him hard in the back of the head, knocking him out cold.

By the time Merlin took his eyes off his own felled opponent, Arthur had the other guard unconscious on the ground and was securing his wrists and ankles with zip ties.

Merlin didn't bother asking where those had come from. Arthur hadn't been carrying them before, which meant he found them in the vicinity of the gun. When Arthur handed a couple ties over, Merlin accepted the handoff and made efficient use of them on his own unconscious opponent.

Violence raged beside them at alarmingly close range. With swirling senses Merlin looked first to Arthur, then to the fight in progress. Weapons-fire erupted practically on top of them before Merlin could ask what the hell they were supposed to do now.

Dirt and dry grass exploded beneath a stream of bullets. A line of gunfire swept directly towards them as the woman holding the gun was knocked to the ground by an unnatural gust of wind—and for once it was Arthur who reacted to knock Merlin out of harm's way. Arthur dove at him and dragged him down. Not out of danger—there was nowhere truly outside the line of fire—but far enough from the hail of bullets to keep them both from being hit.

Merlin landed hard on his back with Arthur on top of him. Impact knocked the air out of his lungs, and he clung to Arthur as his chest heaved helplessly—as he failed for several agonizing seconds to draw breath into his lungs.

It hurt when he finally managed to breathe, but it was _air_ and Merlin gasped gratefully. Arthur was still on top of him. Staring down with fear in wide eyes, offering no protest to the desperate way Merlin held him.

"Are you hit?" Arthur demanded. He waited for Merlin's focus to settle on his face, then growled, " _Merlin_. Are you hit?"

Merlin shook his head 'no' and immediately regretted the motion as it summoned a surge of nausea. He didn't yet have the capacity for words, his lungs still heaving, his chest tight and sore. When Arthur moved as though to rise from the ground, Merlin clung harder to keep him right where he was. If he used a little extra nudge of power to manage the trick, well, who could possibly blame him?

Several seconds later he finally had air enough to speak, and Merlin raised his voice to be heard over a shattering wall of sound. "There's no way I'm keeping you out of that fight, is there?" He was mostly just stalling for time. Of course Arthur would insist on fighting. But if he vanished into the fray before Merlin was steady enough to follow him, then he would be gone in the chaos. Vulnerable and out of Merlin's reach. Merlin could not protect Arthur if he was not close beside him.

But judging by the wide-eyed horror on his face, Arthur had taken the question in earnest. "Merlin, you cannot be serious. Our friends are out there fighting, maybe _dying_. I can't just wait on the sidelines to see what happens."

"Of course not," Merlin agreed, injecting his voice with a cheerfulness he did not feel.

Arthur blinked down at him. Arthur was heavy and warm, beautiful despite the dirt smearing his face and the way his hair stuck up on one side. And all Merlin wanted was to keep him safe.

"Then why are you asking me—"

"Just making sure," Merlin said—shouted really. "You realize I'm going with you."

_That_ took a moment to sink in, but the moment it did Arthur thundered, " _No_ , you are bloody well _not_. You are staying right here where I can be certain you're safe."

"I'm not letting you throw yourself into that mess alone."

"Merlin, I am _ordering you_ —"

" _No you're not_ ," Merlin snapped, letting any pretense at cheer slip from his face. He glared at his former employer. "You do not give me orders. I don't work for you anymore. And if you intend to fight, then so do I."

Miraculously, that seemed to settle the matter. There was no mistaking the fact that Arthur was furious, but there was also nothing he could do. Knocking Merlin out would not improve _anyone's_ chances of survival.

" _Fine_ ," Arthur snarled. "But _stay close_."

It was an admonishment Merlin had no trouble agreeing to, and he nodded. _Close_ was exactly where he intended to stay. Near enough to protect Arthur—to make sure he did not finish this fight a martyr—to keep him from harm's way as best Merlin could.

Merlin handed over the gun he still held—he didn't intend to use it himself—and entered the fray at Arthur's side. Merlin's reality narrowed to a knife's edge. To Arthur and the space around him, the enemies on all sides, Merlin's own periphery an afterthought as he threw himself into fighting.

It was awful and endless. Shouts and screams. Blood. People falling. Bodies littered the ground, and Merlin kept nearly tripping on them. His ears rang with deafening bursts of gunfire at close range, and he was certain he would not be able to hear anything else for weeks. Arthur wielded one of the handguns until the clip ran empty, then switched to the other one. There were plenty more weapons to be salvaged from the ground after that, and Merlin noted the rigid set to Arthur's features. He knew Arthur was no more wired for killing than he was—that this wound would be a very long time healing—but they needed to survive first. Everything else would simply have to wait.

Merlin used his own abilities as he moved, struggling to keep up with Arthur. He stuck to defensive tactics, mostly because those were his best skills. As he grew accustomed to the relentless rhythm of combat, he expanded his awareness beyond _Arthur_ and began to shield their other allies from harm.

He wouldn't know how to use his skills to deliberately kill someone if he tried, but even his defensive tactics grew more aggressive the longer he fought. More than once he shoved enemy combatants deliberately into the line of friendly fire. The guilt he tucked away for later; it would only slow him down now.

The battle—ugly and overwhelming—seemed to go on forever. In a disconnected corner of his mind, Merlin felt relief every time he caught a glimpse of one of his friends in the maelstrom. Lancelot seemed to be everywhere at once, despite his lack of mutant abilities. Gwen, despite the weapon in her hands, appeared more focused on medical triage whenever Merlin spotted her. Crouching over fallen companions, hands glowing—so _that_ was her skill—risking her own neck to reach the most desperately wounded.

Merlin couldn't watch long enough to tell if her efforts were doing any good, but he had to believe they were. In the midst of all this violence—this hurricane of bullets and wind, fire, lightning, stone—he had to believe she wouldn't risk herself needlessly. 

And then there was Morgana. A firestorm hurtling in and out of Merlin's awareness. He was startled to see how competent she'd grown, wielding the electrical power in hands with deadly efficiency. With a gesture she could overload enemy equipment, setting it on fire and sending her opponents into chaos. Yet another glimpse he didn't have the time or the focus to process, as he kept his attention on his own perimeter, and on Arthur within it. Merlin's hands were full protecting Arthur without getting caught by bullets or clipped by closer blows, as the battle turned closer and guns were dropped in favor of swinging fists and sharp edges.

He was exhausted. More exhausted than he'd ever been in his life, drained and aching and shaky on his feet. His head hurt from prolonged use of powers he had never tested at such arduous length. Pain throbbed furiously at his temples and the base of his skull, all the more distracting for the overwhelming brightness overhead. The usual gray cloud cover was nowhere to be seen, and sunlight cut through a blue sky, glaring and uncomfortable.

Merlin took his eyes off Arthur just for an instant—just long enough to duck beneath the swipe of an enormous knife and then _shove_ with all the tired mental strength he could muster. The push toppled his assailant into the path of a tumbling wall of stony earth—Merlin couldn't see who had caused the cascade—and the mercenary was crushed between heavy boulders.

By the time Merlin sought Arthur out again, the prat had managed to get himself cornered. Arthur stood surrounded by half a dozen soldiers, each with a massive gun trained directly on him.

Fear pulsed wild and hot in Merlin's throat as he scrambled toward them over uneven terrain. The ground had been smooth before this pitched battle with its display of mutant powers. He prayed those mercenaries knew who they had encircled. He prayed they _would not shoot_. But he didn't trust cool heads to prevail, even as the fighting began to burn itself out around him.

The ground shifted, but Merlin kept his footing as he scrambled up a hill that hadn't existed a moment before. When he reached the top Arthur was still standing—still surrounded—but a glint of sunlight on metal drew Merlin's attention to the right—

—directly to the heavy truck flying through the air, spinning in impossible wind and well beyond control. It was hurtling directly toward Arthur.

In that moment it didn't matter that Merlin was exhausted. Denial twisted violently in his chest, instinct so powerful it flooded him. It spun and expanded beneath his skin, ricocheted behind his ribs, picked up speed and power in the span of a single breath.

The power burst out of him without warning, a single thoughtless _push_ that felt like an explosion. An illusion of impact leaving him breathless. A blackout as his senses blurred and contracted and shut down.

He wasn't unconscious—he didn't _think_ he was unconscious—but he couldn't see, hear, feel the battle around him. Couldn't taste dust on his tongue, couldn't perceive anything at all past the silent midnight saturating his senses. Where was Arthur? Who was winning the fight? Why couldn't he _see_?

When his senses returned it was with a painful burst, sudden but blurry. Fragmented. Disjointed by the ache suffusing his entire body. It took him a moment to realize the battle around him had stopped. The world was eerily still, the silence nearly complete.

Merlin blinked and oriented himself. He was on his ass in the dirt. _All_ the combatants were on their asses in the dirt, mercenaries and mutants alike, all looking dazed and possibly concussed. Merlin's own senses spun so hard he struggled not to vomit—whatever he'd just done, he hoped never to do it again—and the disorientation worsened for a moment as he pushed himself into sitting upright. There was no sign of the truck that had so alarmed Merlin a moment before. Even the nearest trees had been flattened outward. 

He searched for Arthur, swallowing a surge of panic when he found no sign of him.

The sound of a gun cocking almost didn't penetrate the ringing in Merlin's ears. But the rest of the field was so quiet, and the sound came out of nowhere, jarring in the stillness. Close enough to make Merlin stiffen where he sat. He turned his head slowly. And was somehow—improbably—not surprised to find Uther Pendragon standing barely three feet away. Uther held a pistol in one hand.

He was aiming it at Merlin's head.

Merlin hadn't caught a single glimpse of Uther throughout the fight. But hell, of course he hadn't. Why would Uther risk his own neck when he could pay someone else instead? Of course he withdrew immediately to let the battle commence without him, ugly and bloody and vicious.

Uther stood unflinching amid the scattered contenders now, heedless of the fallen combatants and the smell of death. Careless of the eerily quiet battlefield. He glared at Merlin, rage and hate smoldering in narrowed eyes. Uther's jaw clenched. His arm held perfectly steady, but he was holding the gun wrong. One handed: he would hurt himself when he pulled the trigger.

Merlin would be dead regardless. He needed to disarm Uther.

But when he reached inside himself, searching out the core of strength that would let him push Uther away, he found…

Nothing. There was _nothing_. Just the dull ache of a reservoir run dry. A battery with no power. His exhaustion carried an empty feeling now, and for a moment Merlin struggled to breathe.

He couldn't move fast enough to get himself out of the path of a _bullet_. If Uther pulled the trigger at this range, it wouldn't even matter how lucky his aim was.

" _You_ did this," Uther snarled, somehow encompassing the upended battlefield without taking either his gun or his eyes off of Merlin. "You're one of _them_. All this time, right under my nose, in my own home. _Working for my son_. I never should have allowed you near him."

Rage clogged Merlin's throat, stopping his voice. It left him shaking with an impotent need to tear this man—this selfish, careless, hypocritical monster—apart with his bare hands.

Maybe it was fortunate Merlin couldn't currently access his abilities. If he could, in this moment it might not matter that he'd never caused deliberate harm, or that he didn't know _how_ to use them that way. He might do it regardless. And Uther was unquestionably a monster, but Merlin did not want to be responsible for the man's death.

None of this helped with the immediate problem: Merlin's place on the ground, the gun turned directly on him, the murderous glint in Uther's eyes.

Before Merlin could think of a way out, Arthur was there. He appeared suddenly, moving with a stocky sort of grace. Determination lengthened his stride as he put himself bodily between Uther and Merlin.

As he put himself directly in the path of the bullet Uther had not yet fired.

Merlin's throat tightened and he wanted to shout, _No_. He wanted to push Arthur away from danger. But he was frozen in place, his body refusing to cooperate, his voice caught in his chest. He felt powerless and terrified, and he did not like the feeling.

At least the spectacle had prevented the battle from resuming. Mutants and mercenaries alike were picking themselves slowly off the ground, but no one moved to attack. All eyes locked warily on the confrontation between father and son. Cautious gazes, curious and confused. Even if anyone had been inclined to start fighting, only a small portion of the crowd managed to rise. Many—most—stayed on the ground. More mercenaries had fallen than mutants; it wasn't much of a silver lining.

"What the hell are you doing?" Uther demanded, glaring at his son as though he _still_ did not understand that this was a deliberate mutiny. "Arthur, _stand aside_."

"No," Arthur said. Simple. Blunt. Coiling with strength.

"Son—"

" _No_ ," Arthur repeated more forcefully. "The only way you're getting to Merlin is if you shoot me first."

From where he sat, Merlin could still see Uther clearly past Arthur's protective form. Which meant he had a perfect view of the insensible rage that flashed across Uther's face. For just a moment—a single terrified instant—Merlin was genuinely afraid Uther _would_ pull the trigger. There was fury enough in those eyes, and a tinge of madness he had never glimpsed before in Uther's face.

Uther didn't lower the gun, but he did not shoot either. "He is one of _them_." The words came out a betrayed hiss, but Arthur stood firm in the face of it. 

"Yes. And I would protect them all if I could."

"What have they done to you?" Uther's voice rang through the clearing.

" _Nothing_ , Father. They didn't even conspire to kidnap me. I orchestrated everything myself. The abduction, the ransom, those were _my_ ideas. I didn't know how else to get through to you."

"If you don't start talking sense—"

"I _am_ talking sense," Arthur shouted, interrupting what was certain to be an impotent threat. "I _have been_ talking sense _for years_. Mutants are not a threat to you, but you refuse to listen!"

"Mutants are _dangerous_."

"So are the rest of us under the right circumstances." Arthur nodded pointedly toward the gun in Uther's hand.

"I am only trying to protect my family."

"By pointing a gun at your own son?"

Uther gave a visible start, seeming only now to realize the gun was still in his hand. He lowered it grudgingly, aiming toward the dirt and—Merlin thought but was not entirely sure at this distance—clicking the safety back on.

Safety or not, Merlin still drew the first real breath he had managed since Arthur stepped in front of him. Christ, even if he one hundred percent trusted Uther _not_ to deliberately shoot his son, accidents happened. Surprise could make a man pull a trigger. At least now the worst thing Uther could accidentally shoot was his own damn foot.

Uther looked no less wrathful for having lowered his weapon. If anything, his features had grown stormier than ever.

"I've had enough of this nonsense," Uther said in a voice of quiet thunder. "You will come with me. Now. And if you are _very lucky_ I will give you an opportunity to atone for your… _behavior_." This last word he practically spit, each syllable imbued with venom.

"No," Arthur repeated his refusal once more. "I'm not going anywhere with you. And I will certainly not _atone_. You are wrong about everything, Father. Mutants are not the enemy. They are _people_. _Citizens_. They deserve the same protection as you or me. And instead you single them out for attack, abuse, imprisonment. These are people who have done _nothing wrong_. You cannot criminalize someone for existing."

The words seemed to strike Uther silent. There was shock now alongside the rage that still twisted every line of his face. Merlin held his breath and waited, watched.

Arthur pressed the advantage. "Your Sentinel Program is an abomination against justice. It is wrong in _every conceivable way_ , and I will fight it—and you—with everything I have."

After a very long delay, Uther bit out a retort scratchy with gravel. "If you do this, you are no son of mine."

Merlin was so proud his chest hurt when Arthur answered steadily, "Then it seems I'm not your son."

Uther took a jerky forward step. "I am not bluffing, you ungrateful _child_. If you persist, the first thing I'll do is cut you out of my will. Your position, gone. Your inheritance, gone. Your financial support, _gone_."

"Take them." Arthur's voice barely wavered—only Merlin and Morgana and perhaps Lancelot would be able to read the flicker of emotion—and his denial did not slow. "I don't want your money or your corporation. Not at this cost."

" _Arthur_ —"

"Goodbye, Father," Arthur said quietly. Then he pivoted to address the clearing at large, voice carrying strong and clear and even. "This fight is over. There's no point helping a madman to collect a son who does not exist. See to your wounded and _leave_."

" _Do not_ stand down!" Uther shouted, but his protest went ignored. His hired mercenaries were already shouldering their weapons and beginning to fall back. Many were limping, others carried the fallen, the hurt, the unconscious.

Even Arthur made a conscious show of ignoring his father, turning his back on Uther and bending to help Merlin to his feet. He gave no outward sign of noticing the weight of Uther's stare, but Merlin was all too aware of Arthur positioning himself between them. Shielding Merlin with every step.

Merlin tried to move quickly—to keep his feet under him—to _hurry_. Perhaps he pushed himself too hard, or perhaps he was too tired to postpone the inevitable any longer. When the world began to blur and darken at the edges of his vision, he had just enough time to say Arthur's name before he fell.


	10. Epilogue

When Merlin woke it was still daylight, though the glaring sun had—blessedly—drifted behind a heavy cloud bank and left the sky a less painful gray.

It took him a moment to realize that meant he was still outside. A moment more to figure out that he was on the ground, but his head was pillowed on something warm. A final moment to realize he was lying on his side with his head on Arthur's thigh, and there were fingers carding through his hair.

He shifted onto his back so that he could look up into Arthur's face. He found a guarded expression waiting for him. It was a look he recognized, one calculated to hide the fact that Arthur was worried. As though Merlin didn't know him far too well; he hadn't been fooled by that look in a very long time. He wasn't about to start now.

"I'm _fine_ ," Merlin said. Perhaps not the most romantic choice of first words, but once they were out he didn't try to take them back. "Are you hurt?"

"No," Arthur said.

Merlin pushed himself upright, not minding at all the steadying hand on his arm, the protective warmth in Arthur's touch. He was exhausted, covered in dirt and probably worse things. He hurt everywhere, for all that he was not injured. And when he nudged at the place his reserve of power should be, he found it thin and weak. He would clearly need more time to regain his energy, in more ways than one.

But he was alive. And Arthur was alive. And Merlin surged into Arthur's space, pressing an uncoordinated kiss to Arthur's startled mouth.

Arthur allowed the kiss, pressing back, allowing Merlin this moment to reassure himself that they were both okay. He made no move to end the kiss, waiting instead for Merlin to retreat. And when Merlin drew back—opened eyes he had not consciously intended to close—he found Arthur watching him with a winded expression. Like _he_ couldn't believe they'd made it through either.

Merlin settled beside him, belatedly taking in more of his surroundings. They were near the abandoned factory buildings. A small fraction of the mutants from the battlefield were working quickly around them, but without any of the frantic energy that had permeated the base in the hours before the attack. Merlin scanned the ground but didn't see any of the bodycount he expected.

"The wounded have already joined the evacuation," Arthur murmured softly. "This is just cleanup. The base has been compromised, so Gwen's people are salvaging everything that can be moved. Uther may have lost his army, but it's only a matter of time before the authorities come. And they're not likely to take kindly to a secret underground city full of science labs and weapons."

"No," Merlin agreed dryly, though his heart still thudded far too quickly in his chest. "I suppose they're not. Should we be helping?"

"Someone will shout if they need us." Arthur's hand curled at the nape of Merlin's neck, a gentle but possessive gesture. "Gwen's got everything well in hand."

"Then she's alive," Merlin breathed, and looked to Arthur once more. "What about Morgana? Lancelot?"

"Both safe." Arthur's hand gave a reassuring squeeze. "Morgana left with the last of the wounded. She promised to be in touch. And Lancelot is… here somewhere. Helping. He won't be far from Gwen."

Merlin nodded. He didn't bother asking if Lancelot would be departing with them, wherever he and Arthur went after this. Somehow, he didn't _need_ to ask. It had very abruptly become a given that wherever Gwen went, Lancelot would follow.

"One more question, then," Merlin said. "What do we do now?"

Arthur's touch fell away and he slouched forward, scrubbed both hands over his eyes. He kept his face buried in his palms as he answered with a muffled, "I don't know."

Merlin scooted closer, bumped their knees together in an effort to be reassuring.

Arthur dropped his hands into his lap and heaved a long, tired sigh. "Fuck. I have no home, no money, no _job_. What are we going to do?"

"We could go with Gwen," Merlin suggested, though it wasn't his preference. Gwen and her people would, of necessity, be in hiding. On the run, disconnected from the wider world, constantly watching their backs. Merlin wasn't sure about the shape of the life he would be going back to—and he and Arthur would need to watch their own backs closely—but an existence in hiding held little appeal.

Arthur turned his head and narrowed his eyes at Merlin. "Do you _want_ to go with Gwen?" It was honestly sweet, the way he tried to mask his displeasure at the idea. It seemed they were very much in agreement.

Merlin gave a lopsided smile. "Not particularly."

Arthur's posture eased, shoulders slouching forward with relief. "Thank god." A pause, a slow breath, and he added, "But then we're back to the principle problem: I have no money."

Merlin rolled his eyes and pushed to his feet. It wasn't a particularly graceful maneuver, but it served, and he offered Arthur a hand up from the ground.

"Wrong. _We_ have _plenty_ of money. You may be an unreasonable prat, but you pay your employees well." Merlin let a hint of a smirk show. "Plus, you never gave me enough free time to _spend_ my paychecks. Trust me, we're fine."

Arthur accepted his hand and rose awkwardly. He stared at Merlin, expression an eloquent mix of awe and affection and disbelief.

"Come on," Merlin said. "Let's find some way to be helpful, so we can see everyone safely on their way and then get the hell out of here."

\- — - — - — - — - — -

The next morning found them not at Merlin's apartment, but in a hotel far cheaper than Arthur's usual accommodations. Merlin had chosen it, had paid in cash at the front desk—just in case—and made sure they were okay to stay for at least a week.

Neither of them had eaten since before the confrontation. Neither of them owned a clean change of clothes. But they'd taken turns in the tiny shower, hydrated thoroughly, and then left their clothes on the floor, climbing into the narrow bed and falling instantly asleep.

Now there was sunlight cutting sharply between the window curtains, perfectly positioned to hit Merlin directly in the eyes. There was the impossible inferno of heat from Arthur's body, too much despite their mutual nakedness. There was the twisting rumble in his stomach demanding a proper meal.

And beyond those things there was the heavy pounding of a fist on the door.

Merlin startled wide awake as the pounding registered, but Arthur was already kicking aside the covers on his side of the bed and standing up.

" _Arthur_ ," Merlin hissed, because that could be anyone. They may have paid in cash last night, but they hadn't covered their tracks completely. Arthur was too recognizable, and Uther had already employed mutants to find them once. Surely it was possible he'd done it again.

But Arthur just quirked an eyebrow at him as he crossed the room, careless of the fact that he was still entirely naked. He stopped in front of the door—locked and bolted—and peered through the peephole. A moment later he smiled, huge and genuine, and Merlin's whole body shivered with relief.

"Just a second," he called through the door. Then, turning to gather his clothes from the floor, he said to Merlin, "You'll want to get dressed."

Merlin scrambled to follow Arthur's lead. "Who is it?"

"Morgana," Arthur said. "I've got a guess or two as to how."

Merlin was impressed. A vision _must_ have been what led her to their location. But considering how chaotic and ambiguous her visions usually were, it was a feat indeed that she'd found them.

When they both stood fully dressed, Arthur returned to the door to let Morgana in. She hugged Arthur with one arm on her way past; her other arm cradled an enormous paper bag. When she caught a glimpse of Merlin's raised eyebrows, she seemed to intuit the line of his thoughts.

"I caught a glimpse of hotel stationery," she admitted, mouth curving up at one corner.

"But what are you doing here?" Arthur asked as he secured the door. "Aren't you supposed to be helping Gwen scout new bunker locations?"

"Oh, Gwen already had a backup site. Her people are setting up camp in the new base as we speak. But I needed to check on you assholes. I brought clothes, and breakfast, and I needed to make sure you caught the news."

"The news?" Merlin's brow furrowed. Morgana set her cargo on the foot of the bed and walked directly to the tv. The station was already set to a local news channel when she turned it on, and Merlin was perplexed to see a pristine-looking news anchor in the foreground, and behind him a grainy but unmistakable video of _Arthur_.

Not just Arthur. Merlin was there too. Crumpled on the ground behind him. And as the camera shakily panned farther out, there was Uther. Gun in hand, pointed at his own son.

The television volume was too low to hear anything being said, but before Merlin could find the remote Arthur simply looked at Morgana and demanded, "What the hell am I looking at?"

Morgana turned, catching both Merlin and Arthur in a look so intense it was difficult not to retreat from. There was something somber, but also hopeful in the feeling behind her eyes.

"That's you," she said to Arthur. "That's you standing up to our father and tearing his bullshit political platform to pieces. Someone recorded it, don't ask me how. And it's been leaked to all the news outlets. Papers, broadcast, plus of course it's all over the internet."

"You're kidding me." Arthur looked too stunned to process the information he'd just been handed.

"Nope." Morgana grinned at him. "You've gone viral. People are talking. The Sentinel Program has been put under investigation. All the things people have been saying since day one, these assholes can't just brush them under the rug anymore. Not when it's coming from a Pendragon. _Everyone_ wants to interview you, but no one knows where you are."

Good to know they'd covered their tracks well enough after all. It wouldn't last, but it was nice to know they were relatively safe for the time being. At least until Arthur figured out what to do next.

"That's the real reason you're back, isn't it?" Merlin realized, a little giddy at the possibilities. "You're going to add your voice publicly. If _both_ Uther's children stand against him, that's too powerful an indictment to ignore."

Morgana beamed at him. "There's serious talk about shutting the Sentinel Program down for good. I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that happens." She turned to Arthur, something softer touching her face. Affection, cautious hope. "What do you say, Arthur? Want to help?"

Arthur looked stunned for only a moment before he flashed his teeth, wolfish and determined. "God yes."

"Good." Morgana turned her attention to the paper bag. "Then eat your breakfast and make yourselves beautiful. Our first interview is in an hour."

Merlin laughed and exchanged a look with Arthur as they both accepted styrofoam takeout containers that smelled like heaven.

The world was about to change—for the better—and they would be ready.


End file.
